The Dirty Duchess
by dungbombacidpops
Summary: "You … you want me to become your mistress?" she whispered hoarsely. "Oh lord no! I select my lovers who have a lot more refinement and sophistication than you could ever possess. No, I have a better or rather a worse proposal for you ... depends on how you see it. I want you to become my wife, Miss Granger!" MUGGLE-AU Regency Era DRAMIONE, with Theo/Daphne as side-pairing.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer- The characters belong to the one and only, the wonderful JK Rowling. Though the plot is mine.**_

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"BLOODY BUGGERING BASTARD!"

Lord Theodore Nott winced as his usually stoic-faced best friend shouted and slammed the crystal tumbler on the table letting the fine amber liquid slosh over the edge and creating a wet patch on the shiny white tablecloth. He let his mind wander imagining the harried housekeeper sweating, swearing and generally having a minor heart ailment trying to get that stain out. After all, the fifty-year-old damn fine whiskey, which by the way his best friend was imbibing like plain old water left a damn fine stain. And if he wasn't a slimy bastard himself he would have felt pity for the poor housekeeper.

He was pulled out of his housekeeper-pitying musings when something flew towards the general direction of his head and thanks to those fencing lessons his mother had forced upon him to attend during childhood, he ducked at the last moment. The tumbler went flying in the place where his head had been a moment ago, spilling whiskey in its wake like a blood trail after a murder and slammed into the back wall breaking into hundreds of shards of jagged glass. He looked at them, reflecting the candlelight and creating a macabre of ghostly twinkling lights.

"Will you bloody stop it? You could have taken my head off," he said calmly.

With narrowed eyes, he watched his friend who was stumbling and tripping in his drunken haze and he did nothing to help him than leisurely sipping his own spirit.

"That arsehole! Theo, he is six feet under and is still pulling the bloody strings of my life like I am some damn puppet."

Theo sighed. This had been going on for the last one hour.

A frantic looking footman had crashed into his humble abode spouting boloney about the Duke of Wiltshire having taking off on _foot_ after getting _blasted drunk_ and shouting obscenities about digging up someone's grave so that he could kill him again. And just like that the laidback evening he had planned with his mistress went out of the window. Oh, the things one did for their supposed best friends. Since then he had scoured every inch of London searching his friend- the mighty Lord Draco Malfoy, only to find him knee deep, or rather, face deep in whores in one of the London's most notorious whorehouses. No offense, they were beautiful, those soiled doves, and he would have gladly taken up one of those busty red-heads giving him come-hither looks but even he knew that Draco had enough class and understanding of his position than to visit those scandal houses. It had taken him less than a minute to see how sloshed Draco was. So being the kind and generous friend that he was he had forsaken any carnal delight the said red-head would have had provided and dragged the sorry arse of the drunk duke back to the Malfoy Manor. And after three cups of tea laced liberally with liquor and a tumbler of whiskey that was later thrown towards his head, Theo had unfortunately found himself in this position.

"Draco, how about you start from the beginning? Even the honors level knowledge I gained from the university isn't enough to understand your drunken ramblings punctuated with the healthy dose of words that would have made your mother wash your mouth with soap," Theo drawled.

"Three years, Theo. Three bloody long years I slogged over my family estate, spent my own trust fund, and made risky investments that no one of sound mind would have ever made. Now that I am not teetering on the precipice of going bankrupt. Now that I don't have to dismiss servants so that I could make ends meet. Now that I don't have to think hard before buying a damn waistcoat. _He_ just had to extend his gnarled hands from his grave and yank the bloody ground beneath my feet.

I did not spend the last three years of my bloody life killing myself trying to keep the Malfoy name respectable so that _he_ could wrap it up it up like a damn gift with a bow and pass it on to some obscure third cousin who wouldn't know his arse over his head about managing an estate of the magnitude of the Malfoys," Draco seethed.

"So you are telling me that _he,_ who I suppose is your dead father had left _your_ inheritance to the next in line? Forgive me, Draco, but I am finding that a bit difficult to believe.

Your father who, pardon me for saying, was an overzealous bastard about blood purity left all of the Malfoy holdings to someone who wasn't born of his loins."

"Yes, Theo, that son of a bitch might just have done that."

"I suppose your grandmother would take offense to that statement. But weren't you yourself present while your father's will was being read? And I remember you weren't even that drunk that you could have missed something as life-altering as this?" Theo asked, doubt coloring his tone.

He knew that the late duke, Lucius Malfoy was a complete bastard who got off on hitting his own family but he had never imagined him doing something as drastic as taking the inheritance of his own heir.

"Oh, I was present alright when the will was read. Dear father had left me with nearly empty family coffers, a crumbling manor whose upkeep nearly sucked the blood out of me, a bunch of other estates in horrible condition, a staggering debt in myriads of gaming hells, and a horde of whores whose contracts were yet to be fulfilled," Draco nearly shouted.

Theo wasn't worried about the help listening to the conversation and passing it to others over a scandal-filled cup of tea. After all, they were a bunch of loyal tight-lipped staff who knew how powerful the Malfoy name still was.

"So what happened now? How come your cousin is competing for the inheritance?" Theo asked exasperatedly, as Draco was talking in rounds making no sense at all.

"You know my father's flair for dramatics, Theo. When the will was read he had left a _tiny_ condition to be unveiled only when the time was right," Draco replied sarcastically.

"And the right time has arrived, I presume?" Theo questioned already knowing the answer to it.

"Oh yes, Theodore it has," Draco growled.

"So, what is it? I can grasp from your drunken whoring stupor that you now know about this condition?"

"The condition was that if I am not _married_ by my twenty and fifth birthday then all my inheritance would go to the next in line," Draco said before falling onto the chair in a graceless heap of arms and legs.

"But- that's – why? Did he give a reason?" Theo sputtered. It was bad, it was really bad.

"What can I say, my father was a sadistic arse! And yes, he was Lord Lucius sodding Malfoy, so, of course, he gave a reason. The same tripe about how big of a disappointment I am and how he would like to see the Malfoy line continue after his death."

"But your birthday … it's just a month away."

"Oh, thank you, Theo, for remembering. I had forgotten myself," Draco snarled back.

"There is no need to bite my head off, Draco. Your father had ordered to announce it just before thirty days till the time was up?"

"Upon his _insistence_ I had started courting eligible women. And he must have known that I would rather take a bullet than a wife. So he made a last ditch effort to ruin my life as if he hadn't done that already," Draco snarled.

Theo knew what insistence meant in the dictionary of the late duke. It would have meant a blackened eyes and a couple of broken ribs for the duchess, for Draco's mother.

"We need a plan," Theo said with gravity.

In answer, his friend just bared his teeth. His eyes were bloodshot, the once sleeked back fine platinum blond hair had spilled around giving him a maniac look as his gloveless hands ran through them. The waistcoat was rumpled beyond recognition, his once perfectly starched and intricately tied cravat had come undone in one side, and there was a garish stain of mysterious origin on his breeches that Theo had no will to know. God forbid if Draco's valet saw him now he would probably die of shock. This was the worst Draco, Theo had ever seen.

 **.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'**

Lord Draco Malfoy, the eleventh duke of Wiltshire was always the epitome of gentlemanly behavior. He was renowned for his grace, his wit, his snarky comments, his nose-bleed inducing arrogance and his ability to trace his ducal family-tree back to a century. He was the silver-eyed favorite of the ton. There was not a ball or a garden party he wasn't invited to. And the parties his heavenly presence had graced had become overnight sensations gracing the society gossip pages with ardor. He was the most sought after bachelor of the season and had been since the time he came of age. Wherever he went the slobbering marriage-minded mamas of the ton had pulled down the hem of their daughter's décolletage and pushed them into the path of the said duke, hoping that their daughters became the next Duchess of Wiltshire.

At the age of twenty and one he had come into his inheritance and that too quiet unexpectedly when his father had died of unknown cause. The scandal that would have aroused if the information had escaped that the randy old goat was found naked and dead in his mistresses' bed was snubbed and hushed up with a few well-placed blackmails and a right amount of pounds exchanging hands. For all the London knew, the tenth duke of Wiltshire, Lord Lucius Malfoy had died in his sleep peacefully in his _own_ bed beside his dearly loved wife.

So at the tender age where the heir to the most influential family should be bedding anything that had breasts and a cunt, getting drunk in the finest of liquor that money could buy, and waking up women with no recollection whatsoever of the previous night, Lord Draco Malfoy was racking his mind and his wit trying to make the ends meet. Oh, don't even think for a second that he had led a saintly celibate life. He was a healthy man oozing masculinity and had needs that he took care by tucking a handful of mistresses in _almost_ respectable parts of London and visiting them when his mood strikes. He strove never to be as gaudy as his dearly departed bastard of a father. So unlike him who had bedded any streetwalker he could find, the now Duke selected mistresses on their ability to maintain his privacy. His mistresses were respectable widows, courtesans, and the occasional busty opera singers who knew how the gentry worked.

Draco rubbed his hands on his face trying to rub off the feeling of desperation and the smell of cheap rum along with cheap perfume.

"Are you sure that there is no way around it? Did you tell your legal advisers to find anything, any loophole?" Theo asked.

"What do you think I am? A witless ninny. Of course, I did that. I stood over the shoulder of the bloody advocate and ordered him to read the will till his eyes bled. But the damn thing had no loopholes. What am I going to do, Theo? I … I-" he shuddered with desperation. "For the first time since I became the man of the house, I was able to breathe, Theo. For the first time, everything wasn't about to fall around my ears. For the first time, I was about to live. Just live. Last year the estate manager informed that for once we are going in profit. I had thought of taking a break and just enjoying the things that I have missed in the last couple of years. But now this," Draco finished.

"Draco?" Theo called softly.

Draco raised his head which was getting heavier by the minute and stared at his best friend, his confidant. He was the only one who had known pretty much everything that had transpired in his life.

"Draco, everything will be alright you know," Theo said.

"How, Theo? How?"

"You have worked damn hard to bring back the Malfoy name back to its original glory. And I will be damned if some stupid cousin reaps all your hard work. So the bastard wants you to get married? Then go ahead get bloody married. You are the most sought after bachelor of the ton, Draco. If the word gets out that the Lord Malfoy is looking for a bride, the marriage-hungry mama's will throw their daughters onto you so fast that your head will reel," Theo said.

"But I never wanted to get married. Never!" Draco shouted. All the desperation, anxiety, anger, fury and rage slammed into him like a boulder. He rooted for the tumbler of whiskey and upon realizing that he had already thrown the damn thing against the wall he grabbed the whole bottle and chugged. He drank till his insides were burning and his mind had turned into a sluggish mush. "I had made the decision to never get married, Theo. You know how my parent's marriage was. How my childhood was. I have no plan to bring a woman or a child into this mess."

And therein lay his biggest fear.

Draco watched as Theo got up and came around the table and pulled the bottle out of his unsteady grasp. He laid a solid hand of support in his shoulder. "You are nothing like your father, Draco. _Nothing._ You have never hit women or a child in your life nor you will in the future. I know that."

Draco knew that but there was always a 'what if' rattling around his brain. _What if he was like his father?_

He tried to nod but the nausea was so overwhelming that he was sure best friend or not, Theo would have his bullocks if he retched all over his posh shoes.

Theo clapped his hands the loud sound hurting Draco's delicate sensibilities. "Okay, let's get you out of this rut. We need a plan. A plan to get you into a connubial bliss within the next thirty days."

"I have not yet decided to get married," Draco said indignantly.

"Fine be a stubborn arse! Why don't you wrap your bequest and hand-deliver it to your cousin? Which cousin exactly will it go to?"

"That stupid perfect saintly Potter! With his shiny badges and honors for winning the war. He is the heir to the Black family and next in line for Malfoy family." Draco ground out.

"Bloody hell! Potter! Well, then you have no choice but to get married, Draco. Lord Harry Potter is the last man you would want all your legacy to go to. You have been whining for years about how he gets everything with too little effort from his part right from when we all were in school. And after having won the war against the French for the Queen, Lord Potter is now her favorite. No jury will go against the green-eyed golden boy if you contest the will in the queen's court."

Draco closed his eyes all of a sudden feeling tired. Exhausted. "You are right. And how the hell do you know that the bloody git's eyes are green," he sighed.

"I know everything, Draco. Now come back to the pressing matter at hand. What about the younger Lady Greengrass? I still don't know why you broke your courtship with her?" Theo wandered.

"Astoria? Oh hell no! Not that imprudent bint. Not after what she did to Mother," Draco glared back. "And damn you for snagging the better Greengrass sister."

"Oh forgive me dear friend for the blunder. I perhaps should have wailed a little louder and flailed my tiny infantile arms in a huff a little longer while we were being betrothed to each other at the ripe old age of three years so that you could have married her now," Theo said with profusely laced sarcasm.

Draco would have rolled his eyes if he had the energy.

"How about the Parkinson girl?"

"Oh no! I don't even have the stomach to bed her. Have you seen her face? She looks like a pug and the laugh of a hyena. And I would go insane with the amount of inane chatter that escapes her mouth. Besides call me hypocritical but I mandate that the next duchess would be a damn virgin, not someone who had unlocked her legs for the half of the London."

"And Lady Millicent Bulstrode is out too, I assume?"

"Have you lost your mind? Of course, she is out. Theo, she is taller than me and fatter than a cow ready to be slaughtered."

"The younger Weasl-"

"Don't even complete that thought. I will rip my guts out before I even touch a Weasley."

"Draco, stop being a snot. If you go on like this all the well-bred ladies will be finished. It's not like you have to live with them. Just bed them enough times so that you have an heir and a spare, even better, do it in the dark so you won't have to look at them. And after the deed is done put them in some estate with a generous pin money. As long as they can buy their gowns, bonnets, and all those feminine fripperies they will be happy. You can continue as you are doing now. You know how the ton marriages work. Even these women don't expect you to give up your mistresses after marriage. And after a month or so you won't even notice that you are leg shackled with a wife."

Before Draco could say something a slight scratching on the door pulled his incoherent attention. He frowned but gave the permission to enter. The door opened to permit his butler, Winston, who walked in with his soundless steps like a ghost.

Draco had never heard his footsteps and trust him he had tried when he had been a spoiled bored brat of eight. He had dogged him for the better part of the day trying to find the rationality behind his silent steps and peppered him with questions until… until his father had slapped him across the face and reprimanded him not to get friendly with the help.

Winston had been in their family long before he was born. And to Draco, he looked like he hadn't aged at all. There were no lines or wrinkles on his stone-like face probably because he never showed any expression. He had never seen anything other than the polite disinterest on his butler's face.

"What is it, Winston?" he asked as soberly as he could.

The butler looked at him with a blank face as if the sight of the duke shit arsed drunk was nothing different from the usual. He curtsied him and said in a monotonous voice. "My Lord, a lady … without a chaperon has requested your presence. She didn't give a calling card. I have placed her in the blue room and the tea tray shall arrive soon," Winston intoned, his voice wavering slightly at the part calling her a lady. As if he was doubting the possibility of the woman being a lady. A _lady_ who called upon an unmarried gentleman's house in the night and that too without a chaperon.

"Tell her I am busy, Winston. If she wants to call upon, she can come in the morning _along with a chaperon._ "

"I did, My Lord. But the lady insisted. She was a bit distraught," Winston added the last part in an afterthought.

Draco frowned, he knew of no lady who would dare upon to call at this time and that too in the Manor. But nonetheless, he nodded slightly in Winston's direction who then backed out of the room inaudibly.

All his mistresses knew never to call upon when he was in the manor. He generally cut their contract off before they tended to get clingy. He might be a rake, a cad, a libertine of the worst reputation nevertheless he was a gentleman. So he would meet her and _if_ she was one of his mistresses then a parting gift and the end of the contract will the last thing she will get from him. All of them knew how the game was played.

"Your butler is damn frightening. How come he never makes a sound when he walks?" Theo said.

"Devil if I know. It's going to be one of those mysteries that the world has no answer to," Draco answered absent-mindedly. His mind was still stuck in conditioned inheritances, whiskey, and unknown unchaperoned _ladies_ calling upon him in the night.

"You sly dog. I didn't know you were entertaining women in your house and that too with your mother in residence," Theo said shrewdly.

"Sod off, you arse! I don't," Draco bit out. His head was pounding, his poor stomach was revolting, his eyes were gritty as if someone had rubbed sand in the insides of his eyelids and all he wanted to do was let his valet pull his boots off and undo the damn cravat before he fell onto his bed and forgot the whole day like the nightmare it was.

But he couldn't do that like the hundreds of other things in his life.

He had a will to sort out, a marriage to arrange, and a meeting to attend with a distraught lady of questionable reputation whom his ethereal valet had placed in the blue room where nothing was blue. And for this, he needed a lot more aptitude than his slothful brain could procure. So he pulled the bell-pull twice ordering the maid to bring in a fresh pot of tea, which he would strive to drink without tainting it with spirit.

And thus Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and waited for the tea to arrive while Theo hummed a discordant tune in the background which reminded him of the last opera they had attended together. The opera, where later on Theo had sneaked off with the voluptuous singer to spend a drunken night of debauched delights.

The same busty singer had warmed his bed a week later. And Lord Draco Malfoy had learned about her expertise that lay in areas far more than singing

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 _ **So coming back to this story. This is going to be Regency Era MUG-AU Dramione with Theo/Daphne as side pairing and Harry too, who pops up here and there much to Draco's distress. I will try to not make it too angsty (there will fluff too. So yay!). The English might not sound of that era at places and that fault lies entirely with me (my first language is not English, sorry).**_

 _ **As always constructive criticisms are loved and will be acted upon. AND I AM IN DIRE NEED OF A BETA (for grammar, punctuation, line construction, etc.). So anyone willing please PM me.**_

 _ **And last but not the least, review, favorite, follow and let me know if I should continue this story. Or not.**_

 _ **Love.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_WTF! 60+ follows and 20 reviews, you guys seriously rock. Thank you so, so much._

 _I got a BETA for this story *does a_ jiggly _dance*._

 _Amidst a round of applause and shower of rose petals, let's welcome … Ray Alexander:Beta extraordinaire, she is super talented._

 _And to answer some of your questions-_

Hey _girl!- You will know about it in the subsequent chapters and yes, there will be Theo/Daphne's POV. it's their story too._

 _Greengrass-Nott: Nah,_ Draco _, and Theo are both A-grade bastards. And Theo is NOT in love with Daphne YET but we will get there. So will, Draco with Hermione. When you have two impossible and strong women then everything is possible._

Deepthinker _\- I agree I went a bit over the top there, but I have read instances where marriage crazy mamas have hidden their scantily clad daughters in the rooms of Dukes and Marquees in the hope that they get caught. At that time, it_ _really was frowned upon if an aristocratic male compromised an aristocratic female (women were nothing but pawns, the whiter the marriage, longer the groom's title), duels were fought and all that shit. And the poor accused sod had to marry the girl._

 _Guest- the chapters are longer than I usually write (I am used to writing 1-2k chapters) so once weekly updates._

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It took Draco a solid hour, an inhuman lady-like shriek from his valet, a half bath, and a full pot of tea before he looked sober enough that he could have attended the parliament and no-one would have been the wiser. He let his valet fuss over his waistcoat and his cravat and his hair before he could ask the most pressing question.

"Thomas, has my Mother retired for the night?" the question sounded slurred at the beginning but by the end, it had attained its usual articulation.

"Yes, My Lord, I saw to it myself." Thomas, his valet replied.

The old man so very different from Winston. His wizened face was lined with lines, both of laugh and experience. Unlike the silent butler, this one was damn mouthy. He had an opinion on everything, starting from who slept with whom to the latest designs in cravat folding. Draco found he respected him more for that. In the world filled with nodding heads and prostrate postures, someone who had the guts to tell him that the color mustard looked ghastly on him, was a warm welcome.

"And there was no … uh … incidents? She took her medicines?"

"No, and yes. The new nurse seems to be good at what she does. The Duchess had her medicine and then fell asleep," Thomas replied as he tied the cravat in a neat manner.

Not even one soul knew about his mother's condition except Theo, Winston and his valet, Thomas. But after that horrific incident, Draco had acquiesced and hired a highly regarded nurse to care for Mother. Though she was a bit young to his eyes, but Theo had asked around and she had come with good references.

"My Lord, will you be gone for the night?"

"What? No. No, I will be back in an hour or so to retire for the night. You can go and seek your bed. I will take care of the rest."

"But there is no need of that, my lord, I can wait." Thomas always had a spark for stubbornness, since the day Draco had hired him, and again, it was one of the things the young Lord found that he liked about his new valet.

"Thomas! Sometimes you are worse than a mother hen. I am not so much of an invalid that I can't get out of this simple outfit," Draco huffed good-naturedly at the old man.

The faster he dealt with the problem the faster could fall into his bed and with thought rolling around in his head. He continued down the corridor, using his usual quick stride to get him as quickly as he could. He found he just wanted to sleep. To rid himself of the day that had occurred previously. He stopped just outside the blue room and took in a deep breathe, with all the things happening in his life he had no patience to coddle or indulge yet another distressed mistress. She would just have to go.

Was it the widow that he had taken last month? No, she was a respectable lady of the society and had her own secrecy to think about. No, no, this must be the volatile blond who he had shagged into the mattress last week. Though she was beautiful enough to arouse a eunuch, she hadn't had much going in the brain department and her shrill voice was enough to shatter his eardrums...

What he needed was to stop shagging these silly bints. Those blissful moments of thrusting into those nubile bodies weren't worth the headaches they left him with later on.

The first thing he observed when he entered the room was a mass of riotous brown curls. He frowned at the lack of bonnet and thought back. As far as he could remember he had never bedded a brunette, his taste ran more towards blonds scattered with the occasional red-heads or ravens. She was standing with her back facing the door preventing him from seeing her face. Her petite figure was clad in a gown, though the style was of many seasons back the quality was good. With her ram-rod straight back and stiff posture, it didn't look like she was here in her own accord.

Draco cleared his throat in order to gain her attention and stalked into the room leaving the door open. She turned in a snap with a slight yelp as if she wasn't expecting him. Her frightened eyes widened and Draco realized that they were brown too.

As if just remembering that she was standing in front of a duke, she hastened to bend to give a clumsy curtsy. And in the haste to curtsy, her flailing elbows knocked over the priceless vase kept on the nearby table. Draco winced as both of them looked in a trance waiting for the vase to either stop moving or topple over the edge. Draco was pretty sure that vase was a part of the family heirloom and before the vase could meet its untimely gory death, the woman grabbed it with her hand and steadied it back on the table. She bit her lip softly, as if embarrassed.

"Pardon my ungainliness, My Lord," she said with a gasp. Her voice was sort of broken, the way one sounds when one had been keeping mum for a long time, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

Draco took in her appearance and all he could come up with was, she was completely unremarkable. She was tiny, barely reaching up to his chest. And she was … she was just muddy all over. Right from her mud-coloured hair to her mud coloured eyes and even her gown was of a vomit-inducing horrid brown that had streaks of mud splattered near the hem and to top it off it was ill-fitting like she had donned the clothes of someone else. Her gloves looked like they had seen better days as they were frayed around the edges with a bit of visible needlework depicting that the thing had been mended, and re-mended repeatedly in the past.

The sad-looking bonnet was clasped in her small hands getting twisted and distorted in her death-like grip. Well, that explained why the first thing he observed was her hair. They were curly, not the gentle waves that the ladies of the ton loved to sport. Draco never understood the allure of those fashionable hair coiffeurs which needed the heavy-handed use of heating plates. Sometimes while waltzing in some tedious ball with some tedious lady he could still smell the heavy odour of singed hair. But this woman's hair was wild. Insane and completely out of control bursting around her face like an uncontainable firework and, she smelled of roses. Like the manor gardens when the roses in it were in full bloom filling the air with their cloying and heavy scent. And she smelled of something else, something familiar, something warm, but for the love of god he couldn't recall.

She was still wringing her bonnet and Draco had no patience or the penchant to lengthen the impromptu meeting. If she had come looking for employment then the right person to talk would have been his butler because he was the one who took care of that part of the upkeep.

"If you are looking for an employment, Miss, then I suggest you take it up with my butler, I don't take those matters into account," Draco said with a frustrated sigh, his lethargic mind wasn't ready for this.

"No, no, I didn't come looking for employment. Well, not completely. I just … I know you don't know me, My Lord, but if you could listen-" her words stumbled upon each other in a hurry to get out.

Draco nodded towards the settee for her to take a place as he himself took a seat opposite and far enough from her. He was bored already, tired too, for his day had been long and strenuous, but he had the grace to listen to the young woman in front of him. "How about you start from the beginning, Miss-"

"Miss Granger. Hermione Jean Granger."

"Forgive me, Miss Granger, but I know no one of such family," he replied politely.

"Oh, it wasn't you I was insinuating, My Lord. It was regarding the late duke of Wiltshire-"

A flash of blind fury raced through his veins. So she was of his father's whores. By now he had compensated so many mistresses of his father but they still kept coming up like weeds in his mother's favorite rose garden.

"If it's about your contract, then I advise you talk to my manager," his voice turned harsh as he answered.

"I did, My Lord. Of course, that was the first thing I did. But he- I-," she took in a breath as if willing for the dread to reside back. "My-my Lord, Rose Villa is everything to me. It was the last thing of my mother and I hold it very dear to my heart. My father lost it to yours in a card game. And by next month if I don't return back the due debt I would lose it forever. Please if you could find it your heart to give me some more time."

It took a minute for Draco to grasp that he didn't owe her money rather she was in debt. He flipped through his mind trying to recall about any villa. And he did, he did remember a faint conversation with his estate manager about a quaint little country house named after a flower in the outer skirts of London. It was one of those things that his arse of a father had won rather than lose in those bloody gambling-hells.

"So I don't owe you money, rather you owe me? And there were no contracts drawn between my father and you?"

"Contracts? Between me and your father? But why?" she stammered. And then it dawned on her. Everyone knew in which situation such contracts were drawn between a man and woman who weren't married legally or in front of the eye of the God, it pleased Draco seeing the horror and anger colouring her face. "You thought- I would never! Why, that is a horrible thing to assume, My Lord!"

"Pardon me, Miss Granger. I have paid enough woman in the last couple of years to assume so."

"I am sorry if that is the case. But believe me I won't do such thing, ever," she replied solemnly.

Draco smirked at her outrage. He laughed humourlessly inside, everyone had morals and scruples and integrity until … until the right amount of pounds were dangled in front of them.

"Miss Granger, I don't think I can't do anything if my father won fair and square your house. You know how the game is played and I am sure your father knew the risk despite."

"I know, My Lord. But after your father the debt had passed on to you. So if you could extend some more time I would be really, really indebted. I am trying my level best. If you could just give me some more leeway-"

"And why would I do that, Miss Granger. Why would I help such a cowardly man who sent forth his own daughter to beg for his cause and that too to an unmarried man's house at this time of the night?"

"He didn't! I mean I came on my own will," she replied mulishly.

"Well, you are foolish than you look, Miss Granger. But do enlighten me what would I gain if I do so?" he drawled.

She was struck speechless for a moment.

Draco watched her silently, without giving out anything. She pulled in whatever strength that was left in her body as if she was getting ready to fight a battle.

"I was hoping that a man such as you would know what family means. Rose Villa might just be a sad little house to you amongst your bright and lavish manors but for me, it's my only home. I was born in it, grew up in it. It-it's the only thing left of my mother.

We fell into some inescapable difficulties and in a moment of weakness my father played into luck's fickle hands and lost. I know what my father did was erroneous and stupid but he is dead now and I can do nothing about it. If I could … if I could just save my home. I … please …-" her voice petered off as if whatever power she had amassed had finished.

And Draco laughed right in her face.

"I am sorry for your father but I don't know what kind of newspapers you are reading or which kind of hole you have crawled out of if you think there is some secret gentle alter ego of mine that I have kept hidden inside. This is what you get, Miss Granger. The rake, the libertine, the cad. Inside and out. And however inspirational that monologue of yours maybe, I don't make deals where I don't gain anything. I have never done anything for the good of my heart and I don't plan to do so in the near future, or ever."

Her eyes glittered with tears pooling in them but none of them made it to her cheeks. She sat with her hands demurely clasped, spine straight, hands stiff, and with a slight stubborn tilt to her chin. She was an epitome of calm and tranquillity … on the surface at least. But those eyes they were shouting a completely different story. They told of the bone-deep desperation swirling inside them. And being someone so was intimately acquainted with that feeling in the last few hours, he understood. He knew how it felt.

"I- I could work for you? I could work as a housekeeper. I have managed Rose Villa sin- since my mother departed. Though it is not grand as this but I am determined enough to see it through," she stammered unsurely.

"I have a perfectly accomplished housekeeper, Miss Granger and I have no need for a new one," he replied drolly, he was becoming ever more bored of the unremarkable girl in front of him.

"I am very good in maths and I have a good penmanship too-"

"And I have a Manager who oversees those. I don't know how big your house or estate is, Miss Granger. But even if you managed my whole manor and wrote letters till your hands bleed you will need to work for me till you are dead to pay up the principal amount along with the towering interest," he said a tad unkindly.

"I am not afraid of hard work, My Lord. And I am willing to do anything to save my home. Please," hopeless desperation clung to her voice that she had tried to contain so hard inside her.

And something struck Draco's alcohol fused mind. His mind took hold of that unfinished thought and made a mad dash for it. He started calculating the pros and cons regarding it. The idea bounced around his mind and as seconds passed the idea took roots and grew into a mammoth damn tree.

Well, well, well. Looks like she was desperate, he was desperate. And if that wasn't a match made in heaven then he didn't know what was.

So he did what he did before every purchase, he thought how much profit she would bring him. And seeing as it was being his inheritance the gain for him was too much to be ignored.

Draco looked at her, taking in from her head to toe. Her language and behaviour were adequate. If not less she must have been the daughter of some country squire. Her manner, ignoring the initial clumsiness, were impeccable. She seemed educated and not that bad in the looks department. Well, she would need a personal seamstress and a lady's maid to tame that nest of a hair but nothing that a little money and polishing won't do. She would have never imagined herself snagging a member of the ton never mind a duke, what with her being from a lower class. So she would grateful and docile enough to not create any sort of trouble for him. And about that Villa that she had been harping on about. Well, he could give her that, he had no need for that paltry thing anyway.

Oh, yes she would make a passable albeit a bit dirty, if not perfect Duchess. And he could kill two birds with one stone. He would get his rightful inheritance back and get the perfect revenge on his father.

The late duke had always strutted like a peacock preening about his pure lineage that he could trace back to a century. And this woman was no gentry, had no aristocratic blood in her veins. So with the arrival of the heir, his bloodlines would be sullied enough. Oh, how his father would be rolling about in his grave. This was absolutely perfect.

"We will need a contract and perhaps a house for you later on-" Draco mused to himself.

She must have seen something in his expression because next thing he knew she had stood up and was shaking with something that resembled anger. Her eyes sparkled with anger turning her muddy eyes a shade deeper. Her wild hair had started crackling and she had puffed up trying to make herself look large and intimidating like some feral animal. If he hadn't been busy sorting out his thoughts he would have laughed at her inane display of anger. That would also have to go, proper Duchess didn't show emotion.

"When I said anything, I didn't mean that," she nearly spat on him.

"Seeing as I have yet to utter anything regarding that matter, Miss Granger, why don't you tell me what conclusion you have drawn from things that I haven't even said yet?"

"I – contracts- you- You want me to pay back by becoming your … your mistress!"

And at that point, Draco laughed. Again. He laughed even if there was no mirth in it. Oh, how daft and naïve this woman was.

"Oh lord no! I select my lovers who have a lot more refinement and sophistication than you could ever possess, Miss Granger."

Upon seeing her confused expression and her flushed face he explained with a wild glint in his eyes.

"No, I have a better or rather a worse proposal for you depends on how you see it."

Vanilla! It was vanilla, the other damning scent that he couldn't recall. That was the reason why she smelled like warm mornings where freshly baked bread and muffins graced the breakfast table. God, he sounded like a wuss.

And Draco knew who was to be blamed for what came out of his mouth next.

"I want you to become my wife, Miss Hermione Granger!"

 _It was the damn whiskey._

.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'

With half a dozen eggs tucked safely under one arm and a wad of unstitched swatches of fabrics from the seamstress under another, Hermione jumped around the puddles trying to keep her boots dry, or as dry as one could keep in this blasted rain. And mind you, it was not of those pitter-patter-sound-on-the-roof rain that reminds you of hot chocolates and warm blankets but it was one of those kinds of rain that hit you so hard in the face that it feels like a slap. And the worn umbrella held awkwardly between her shoulder and her neck gave little to no protection against the shattering rain.

 _Splash_!

A hackney passed beside her drenching the front of her gown in brown dirty water. Well, no one would notice anyway what with the gown resembling the muddy colour. She sighed, this was one of her mother's least worn gowns and she understood why. The colour was horrible. So naturally the gown was the least mended and the only one in some condition to wear to when she are going to meet a duke who might just be the answer to her every problem.

The duke had arrived late and top of that had made her wait for over an hour. She had to miss the public hackney and had to wheedle a carriage driver to ride to her small town. It had cost more what she had calculated and sadly it looked like the repairs in the west wing would have to wait for a while. She had got off at the entry of her town and had peeped into the seamstress on her way and she had been kind enough to direct some extra work her way for some added money.

She hastened her steps lest another puddle deemed her sodding gown fair play.

 _"Ladies do not run, sweetheart." Her mother's soft voice sounded from far slowing down little Hermione's steps._

 _"But I am not a lady. I am just a little girl. Your little girl," she had chirped back with such innocence that can only be found in a child's heart._

 _"Oh, my dear heart! Not yet. But you will be one day. One day you will grow up to be the beautiful woman that you are."_

 _"Like you, Mama?"_

 _"Of course, just like your mother. Never seen a more beautiful woman ever in my life," her father has snuck up beside her mother and kissed her cheek before kneeling in front of her to reply._

 _Her mother had fondly tousled her hair. "And when you do. One day a knight in shining armour atop a white horse will stride in and rescue from the evil monster. Like in the stories I read to you last night."_

 _"But Mother, I want to be the one who rescues the prince, on my pony. I want to be like the warrior princess like in the story that father read to me," she said patting her mother's hand condescendingly- as if she was the child in the relationship._

 _Her father had laughed, and when her mother had frowned, he had pulled her into a kiss._

 _Eurgh! She had scrunched her face upon her parent's antics that day…_

She snorted thinking back. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. She certainly needed saving. Even though her steps slowed her mind didn't. She forced her brain to not think about what transpired in the Duke's manor not until she had her frozen fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.

Slowly the shops and workshops became sparse and the number of people headed their way home with their head tucked underneath umbrellas became scanty as the stretches of green countryside lengthened. The rain didn't let up, making the visibility nearly zero but it was okay. It was okay because she knew the way to home like the back of her hand, or like the feel of the paper of her favorite book. She rounded a corner and her beautiful home came into sight

To an outsider, the Rose Villa might look dilapidated, ruined, cold, and in a dire need of restoration. But for Hermione it was security, it was love, it was warm. It was the smell of her father's cigar, the subtle trace of her mother's perfume. It was just … home.

She pushed open the rusty gate. The usual rusty screech of its hinges was drowned under the thunder rumbling in the sky. She hurried the last few steps now that the lower half of her gown was completely drenched.

Hermione didn't bother knocking the front door, there were only two people in the house and she was pretty sure they were huddled in the kitchen probably to save coal. She walked through the mud and slosh as she crossed the garden. The garden that was once filled with flowers upon which the villa was named, now housed a jumble of tubers and vegetable and herbs with the occasionally intercepted weed. She had to let go the gardener a long time ago.

The sturdy back door was barely visible and before she could knock the door opened and a pair of wrinkled old hands pulled her inside.

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 ** _Don't forget to leave a review. Please._**


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all those who left a review, followed, favorited, or just simply read my story._

 _Daswhoiam- I am so terribly sorry for what happened. I really am. Just ignore that person, that's what I am doing anyway._

 _A bunch load of beta love to Ray Alexander (she was ill but still she edited, I am so very thankful dear)._

 _And lastly don't forget to leave a review, they push me to write faster. Love._

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"Martha! What in the Lord's name are you doing? You scared the life out of me," Hermione half yelled and half huffed, as she stumbled into her kitchen. The sudden warmth felt like phantom pins and needles driving into her skin over and over again. The slight pain was welcome, it felt like life rushing back into her frozen limbs.

The woman who had so gracelessly pulled her inside, scrutinised her, her face pinched as if Hermione smelt like something offensive. Hermione was left empty handed as the women took the packages from her hand before she pushed her gently onto a chair in front of the stove where something mouth-watering was bubbling. Her stomach grumbled and she realized that the last meal she had eaten was lunch before she took off to take care of her errands. But despite this, her stomach was creating an acrobatic show inside of her, and the thought of swallowing anything, made her feel slightly sick.

"Lord have mercy! Look at you, you look like something that beast of yours had dragged in! Come, sit near the fire before you freeze to death and your teeth fall off from all that chattering. No man wants to wed a woman who has no teeth!

You foolish girl, did you walk all the way from the Wiltshire or what? Did you talk with the Duke? No, don't tell me yet, let me first make you a cup of hot tea. And did you bring the eggs? I swear it's your Crookskanks who keeps scaring the hens off. They haven't laid a single egg in the past week. That ugly brute! If you didn't love him so much I would have chased him out with one of my pans."

Hermione smiled and drowned the incessant chatter of her housekeeper into the background like one does to the familiar hum of their favorite lullaby. Soothing. Comfortable. Martha had always been like that, flitting from one topic to another like a butterfly springing from one flower to another in the spring. She and her husband, John have been taking care of the household for so long that Hermione had lost count of the years. They were always there for her and more so after she had lost her parents.

With Father gone, the money became tight, whatever little help she got from her cousin was insubstantial and she had to let go of all the help around the house. It had been a gradual affair, but still, one that continuously plagued her thoughts. Then the day arrived when she didn't even have enough money to pay their salaries. So with a heavy heart, she had decided to let Martha and John go. And when she said so, Martha had just smiled, cupping her cheek affectionately she had whispered that they had stayed because of her, not for the money. And John being John had just looked incredulously at her and said to cease all these daft thoughts. Martha had been her mother's lady's maid so she and John, both had arrived with Mother, after her marriage. With no child of their own, they had loved her like she was theirs. They had said her mother would have expected this from them.

That was two years back and from since then they had done fine. At times it was difficult but they at least had each other.

Hermione watched as Martha fiddled and potter around the kitchen looking for a pan probably to boil water for the tea. Her favorite pan was sitting in the middle of the kitchen catching drops of rainwater leaking from the roof. Martha frowned at the roof before replacing it with a pot of mint plants from the windowsill.

Hermione clasped her already half-chewed lip between her teeth as she realized that a new leak in the roof had sprung. Well, she will just have to add it to the mile long list of other maintenance work she has to do. In between fixing a new leak and buying coal for the winters, the leaking roof will always lose.

The little trust fund from her mother's side she had acquired when she had turned twenty-one was also on its last legs and a whole lot of other things and their helpless desperation had pushed her to seek out the Duke. Her now twenty-four-year-old bones ached and creaked like they were nearing ninety.

Hermione had been ecstatic when she had made her come out on her father's arm at the age of ten and eight. Oh, it was nothing special like being presented to the queen, as they were no aristocrats, but her Mother had thrown the biggest ball their little town had ever seen. She had been so happy that day, strutting like a queen as if she was walking on clouds. Her mother had made a beautiful gown of soft shimmery material in the colour of white for her. If she closed her eyes and thought really hard she could still feel the feathery touch of the fabric on her body, the silent swish around her ankles, and the sweet smell of delicate perfume. She had danced and laughed and danced till her feet hurt. And then she had danced some more.

Months from that beautiful night her entire world had broken apart.

She woke one sunny morning happy and looking forward to her daily horse ride and just like that her mother had gone. The beautiful, sparkling and vivacious woman was now nothing but just a patch of land in the cemetery. They said that a vein had burst in her head. They said that she had died in her sleep. They said that she probably won't even had felt it.

Wrong. They were so wrong.

She was healthy and young and … and … now she was dead.

And not just her mother, it felt like she had buried a part of her father that day too. Her father became this empty shell of a person. He didn't laugh anymore, he didn't smile anymore, and he didn't live anymore. Her grief had made her blind and by the time she saw the downward spiral that her father had taken, it had been too late. Much too late.

It depended on the day which extreme he took. There were days where he would go into fits of rage, blaspheming god and everyone around him. Cursing the world … cursing her. Then there were others where he would cry till his eyes turned bloodshot and gritty. And some days he would just sit still like a statue unaware of the world around him, completely encased in a world of his, a world perhaps where he found Mother. Hermione recalled those days the most. They were the days she would wake up, and instantly want to crawl back into her bed. He had left her to deal with everything, and she couldn't even yell at him for that. What's the point of yelling if he couldn't even hear her?

In a moment of weakness, she had thought she could turn to her father to lessen the grief, which had begun to eat at her, from the inside out like some flesh-eating monster. After all, they both had lost the one person they had dearly loved. But it never happened. Her father had pushed himself deeper and deeper in this prison that he, himself, had created. He started coming home late and drunk, smelling of cheap whisky and loneliness. And then when one day the sadness had just burst inside her, she had confronted her father. She had shouted and screamed and cried, but he didn't so much as look at her. It was like it was some form of torture when he broke out of his prison. When his eyes slowly slid up to meet her face, they darted back down again instantaneously, as if it pained him to look at her … look at her daughter.

And he had fallen down on his knees like he was confessing some sin in front of the Lord. "You just remind me of her so much. So, so much. I can't do this. I can't do this! I can't look at you… it hurts…"

That was the day Hermione had seen a person die. Even if his heart was beating and pumping blood, his soul had died with his wife. And then a week later he had returned drunk as usual and Hermione had hidden behind a banister as usual. She had started this sleuthing activity to keep a watch on him. She had lost her mother and damn it to god if she lost her father too. She had hoped that he would at least remember that it was her birthday the next day.

Hermione had stared at the dazed look on her father's face as he had locked himself in the library and then … and then…

On her twentieth birthday, the world had given her a gift. The gift of being an orphan, a heavy debt and a bone-numbing panic of libraries.

"Martha, are you haranguing the little girl? Again."

A deep sombre voice pulled Hermione from the depressing vortex of memories. She shook her head as if it would banish the gloomy thoughts and scooped up Crookskanks who was winding around her legs in a lazy figure of eight. She ran her face against his thick fur stealing some of his warmth, he didn't mind, before she turned to look at the direction from where the sound was coming. She frowned when she saw John limping a bit more that he usually did. The cold weather must have aggravated his arthritis, this was the reason why she had gone alone today. Both of them already did a lot more than that was called, she didn't want to worry them more. She reminded herself to put out the salve and the hot water bag for his knees before she turned in for the night.

"John, are your joints bothering you? Is your salve finished? Because I can still make a run to Uncle Severus' house, I am sure he must be still fiddling in that lab of his," she asked with concern.

He smiled at her with such a big smile that it eclipsed his entire face. "Stop uttering nuisance, child. The cold's just acting up my aches a bit. Don't worry yourself, Hermione. These sturdy bones have still a lot of strength left in them."

"Well, if you are sure," she said a bit uncertainly.

"I am. And before it escapes my geriatric mind, this arrived for you." He picked a letter from the table nearby and before he could give her, Martha snapped it off.

"John, at least let the girl have some tea before you talk shop," Martha huffed before placing a hot cup in her hand.

Hermione sniffed the cup before taking a hearty sip. It scalded her tongue but it was so worth it. The tea travelled through her mouth to her stomach warming the way in between. She took another fortifying sip and realized that the tea was too strong. "Martha, did you use the new tea bags? You shou-"

"Oh hush, dear. You looked like you needed it. Now tell me what happened today."

Martha pulled in a chair beside her and though John rolled his eyes he too joined in.

"I will. But first, let me read the letter. It might be something important."

Hermione put Crookskanks on the ground who went and stealthily, or as stealthily as a cat of his girth could and draped himself around Martha's feet. His loud purrs filled the silence that had fallen as she had started reading the letter.

Panic raced through her heart as each word, each sentence of that letter lodged in her mind. No, no, no this can't happen. Not now. Her hands were shaking so hard that she didn't even feel the hot tea spilling over and burning her skin. She didn't feel when Martha took the cup away. She didn't hear the worried voice of John. Her mind had just turned numb.

One soft though calloused hand cupped her cheek and she broke out of her reverie to look into the frightened eyes of Martha.

"Sweetheart, what is it? Tell me, please, you are scaring me," Martha crooned.

"It's from my cousin. He- he says that he can't send anymore more money from now on. The factories are not doing so good now and its upkeep is draining him so much now that he can't part with the extra expenses now," she whispered.

"Nuisance and lies. Complete lies. What is this about extra expenses, this is your right. And I myself had asked around the town and one of the workers had let it slip that the factories are raking in riches now. He's just a stupid tosser who doesn't want to give you your due," John nearly yelled.

"Can't we do anything? Anything? Maybe we should consult the legal counsellor again," Martha said.

Hermione had loved her father with all her heart but the situation he had left her in his grief didn't justify it. Time and time again, however, she tried not to, still, some slivers of bitterness would creep inside.

Years back with the help of her mother's dowry her father had started a factory. By the end of that year, it had been such a huge success that her father had called her mother his lucky charm. As his profit gained momentum and the number of factories increased they became richer and richer. And on Hermione's fifth birthday her father had gifted her mother the beautiful Rose Villa. And her Mother had fallen in love with their home in the first sight itself.

But after their death in the absence of a male heir the factories and accounts were reverted back to the nearest male member, her blasted cousin. Only just a stroke of luck had prevented her home and the surrounding land that came with it from getting snatched from her hands because when the house was bought, in a moment of pure chance her mother had thought it would be nice to start a new tradition. The tradition to pass on the house to her daughter and then to her daughter and so on.

So when everything was done and divided Hermione's cousin had agreed to pay her some upkeep money every month as if he was doing them a great service. And when she had asked for her dowry that her father must have set aside, he said there was none. The legal counsellor had verified it too. Her cousin had patted her shoulder and said her father had gambled away all their savings along with her dowry. And she hadn't questioned further what with her parents being gone and with everything falling around her like ruins, getting married was the last thing in her mind.

Later Hermione had known about the impending debt when the Duke's men had come to collect the monthly instalment. In a fit of alarm, she had run to her cousin for help. But he had sent her back, saying he was already struggling with the factories as it is and he had no more to give. Anyway, it was her father's mess and that too taken against a home that was hers, not his.

The months rolled into years and the money her cousin sent had become so paltry and on top that the monthly dues she made against the debt, Hermione had to take up a dozen other works just to keep them fed, clothed and warm. Until… until now. By next month even the time for paying back the debt would be up and she would lose the one thing she had left of her mother, their house.

"Don't you think I haven't tried? Because I did, Martha, I did. I had knocked the door of every counsellor that I could find but they all said the same thing that my being a female doesn't entitle me anything unless father had mentioned so. If-if father had just changed the will and clearly mentioned my part in it then we wouldn't have had to see this day if he hadn't just gambled away all our savings," Hermione ground out.

Martha straightened her spine and seethed. "Well, then we will just have to work hard. I could take up some more sewing and John could look for some more work. We will be fine, Hermione. We will be. We have made it so far and we can make it further."

Even Hermione could feel the bleakness in Martha's voice despite her futile attempt to mask it. John's face looked it was carved from stone. And Hermione knew how pointless their attempts were going to be. She was a woman and no one would give her a well-paying respectable job. Martha couldn't do any more sewing, already her eyesight was getting worse. Many times she had caught Martha squinting while stitching a hem. And John, he could barely go through the day.

They were getting old.

"Even if we work till our hands bled it wouldn't be enough to keep us afloat and by next month the stipulated time to pay father's debt ends. Our home would be gone too. Unless-"

And then she thought of the Duke's proposal, or rather the proposition. Something just broke inside her in that moment. Shattered. Crushed. Tired. Her limbs felt like lead and she couldn't just take it anymore. She felt like she was drowning with her legs shackled in iron that dragged her deep and no way to break free to the surface.

"He asked to marry me," she said softly.

"Who? Your cousin?" John asked with surprise.

"What? No. No, the Duke asked me to marry him."

Everyone turned silent even Crookskanks stopped his heavy purring.

"The Duke of Wiltshire?" Martha asked.

"Yes."

"OH! Why didn't you say so? Oh, my! But this is marvellous. A duke! A duke! Your mother would have been so proud. She always wanted great things for you? What happened? How did he propose? Well, why wouldn't he? You, my girl, are so, so beautiful. I have heard he is quite a handsome man. Is he going to court you?" Martha babbled in happiness.

"Martha. Stop talking!" John admonished Martha who was glowing like she had seen Jesus. "It's not that is it, Hermione? These aristocrats, they aren't made to fall in love. Every relation, every commitment they make they think of the profit they could gain from it? So what does he want?" John asked Hermione.

And Hermione spilled everything. About how the late duke had put a condition that if the now duke didn't marry within the next thirty days then he would lose his inheritance. About the deal that if she married him within the next thirty days then he would forgive father's debt. About how she could save her home.

"So you see, if the marriage happens then it will just be a marriage of convenience," Hermione said.

"But-but you always wanted a marriage filled with love and respect just like your parents had," Martha whispered.

"And look what it got them! They loved each so much that the other died while another did. They didn't even think what it would…. No, no this is better. At least I know what I will be getting into," Hermione said aggressively.

"I do not like the stubborn glint in your eyes, Hermione," John said.

"But this is the only way. This way we will have our home back and The Duke has said something about generous pin-money. That way you both won't have to work anymore, with the extra money we can acquire new help and you both rest and can oversee the repair of the villa."

"You don't have to think about us, child. We will be fine. But will you?" Martha said.

"Of course, I will be. I will be living in a manor, as a Duchess being waited on hands and foot. I will get to wear beautiful gowns again and attend balls. And I will have my home back. What more can I need? No, don't argue both of you, I think I have made up my mind." Hermione said decisively.

"Do you have to give the Duke an immediate answer?" John questioned.

Hermione shook her head. "No. No, he had given me three days to think about it."

"Then I suggest you do that. And for once don't take into account about us or the house. Just- just think with your heart, little girl. Okay?" John said with worry lining his eyes.

Hermione agreed but just to ease their minds. Because deep in her heart she knew that she had already decided.

 _Three more days._

. **'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'**

On the third day, Hermione woke up slowly. The sky beyond her window was still dark but streaked with splashes of oranges and reds. The dawn wasn't far. It took her a minute to wipe the sleep from her eyes and to remember the implication of the day. It was the day, the Duke was supposed to arrive to know about her decision.

For the last two days, the whole Granger household had looked like a chicken coop, everyone was running everywhere. Hermione and Martha had cleaned or tried to clean as much as they could. For once the living room gleamed. The cushions were dusted, the cobwebs cleaned off, fresh flowers started appearing on table tops, and the curtains were replaced with cleaner ones.

John had oiled the hinges of the front door so it didn't make a sound while opening. Though it had cost an arm but they had bought earl grey tea bags. The front gate didn't screech anymore and the gardens didn't look half bad.

Molly had cleaned and pressed her good dress that she wore on Christmas while John had walked around a bit straighter and with a little less limp, just like a butler should.

And Hermione, she did everything she could so that her mind didn't wander away to that forbidden place. A place where she was in constant torment, if she was doing the right thing.

With a burst of energy, Martha entered the chamber.

"Oh, good! You are up. Freshen up, dear girl. We never know when the duke might arrive. Oh, a Duke!" Martha cooed.

And before she could say anything Martha dragged her for a bath. An hour later with her hair piled up in an artful manner, a couple of pinches to bring colour to her cheeks, and her body dressed in a relatively good gown that Martha had scrounged from somewhere in the attic she waited for the duke.

She waited while she absent-mindedly stirred her porridge till it resembled a congealed mass of inedibility.

She waited while she took an aimless stroll in the garden to calm her restless self.

She waited while barely eating her lunch which by the way tasted like sawdust.

She waited while Martha looked everywhere but at her with saddened eyes.

She waited while John passed in front of the front door for what seemed like the hundredth time.

She waited while she took her tea as the sun bid goodbye from the horizon.

She waited while she informed Martha to forgo dinner as she wasn't hungry anymore.

By the time midnight rolled in and the grandfather clock in the foyer of her main hall struck twelve times, her tears had stopped soaking the pillow.

 _Hermione wasn't waiting anymore_.


	4. Chapter 4

_I am so sorry for the late posting. Read and Review guys!_

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"Are you sure this is something you want to do? Because once you do it, you can't undo it. Ever."

Theo's concerned face floated in front of Draco, blocking the view of his reflection on the floor-length gilded mirror. As this was the eleventh time Theo had asked the same question, he didn't bother to answer. His answer had remained the same for the last ten times and it was not going to change now.

"Oh, rot on you, Theo! This is the last time I am answering. Yes, I am marrying her."

Theo looked at Draco as if staring with the have-you-gone-daft expression would somehow change his decision but when that didn't happen he went back to peruse the marriage agreement. Draco smirked as Thomas stealthily pushed a now engrossed Theo aside so that he could tie the cravat properly. Now that he could see himself properly, he found that he was dressed aptly. Not that the heathen woman would appreciate.

"Are you sure that the alcohol hadn't completely addled your brain? Look at the things you do in my absence, I shouldn't have left you alone that night," Theo kept on grousing.

"We are Malfoys, Theo, even if we are foxed with enough alcohol to put out an elephant, we don't make mistakes," Draco said with a leer.

It had been ten days since that drunken night when he had proposed to a total stranger. Next day he had woke with a hammering headache and unfortunately a clear memory of the whole incident and a tantalizing smell of roses and vanilla that refused to leave his consciousness. It seemed that the alcohol didn't affect his brain to a certain degree so as to induce obliviousness.

And in the interim time, he had a lot to think about and he did.

He must have offended Theo because the next moment he looked like he was ready to punch his face out. Draco hastily took a step back, he loved his face too much to put it through such a trial.

"And are you sure this woman will agree to this settlement?" Theo said as scorn marred his face.

"Of course, she will. And don't scrunch your face so. Have a care for she is going to be the next Duchess," Draco replied with surety.

"Draco, she is making sure that you get your total inheritance back. Well, in a way at least. And all you are giving her is the pardon to a debt that you don't even have the need to collect so that she can save this dilapidated house of hers. Are you sure she will say yes, now that the shock would have worn off and would have realized how big of a fish she has snapped off," Theo said.

"As all she wanted was that house back. So in a way, _I_ am giving her everything she wanted. And it's not like I am exploiting her, Theo. She will have more than she had ever imagined in her life. She will have security, social standing and most importantly money of her own. I will be giving her the damn life of a queen, she won't have to live like a pauper anymore. And if she turns out to be a gold-digger which I don't think she is, then this is the most I am parting with. She can take it or leave it," Draco said.

"Yes. Yes, you are a veritable God to think about her well-being. But do excuse me for not believing that utter shite you are spouting. I know you Draco. I know that you don't make rash decisions. Was it the alcohol? Or was is the sheer desperateness that had plagued you since you knew about your father's will? Because you sure were so bamboozled that day … and it's not like she would mind if you stepped back from your word. Just relieve her of her damn debt and she would slink away from whatever woodwork she had crawled from." Theo's concerned voice grated at Draco's ears making him feel like he was doing something idiotic. Of course, it was idiotic but that didn't mean it was wrong.

"I wasn't that drunk that I didn't know what I was doing, Theo. I have made my decision regarding this matter." Draco said with unmovable clarity.

"But why? Why her? You can have anyone you want. What if she runs away with the family silvers in the dead of the night? I don't get it why you won't marry one of the society miss?"

"Theo! It's not like I am marrying some housemaid. I inquired about her. She is the daughter of a respectable though a foolish country squire. I mean who dies without securing their only daughter's future. Yes, she is rougher around the edges but nothing a little money and time won't make it shine. And if anyone ever dared to ask about her lineage I can smoothly fib that she is some nobleman's daughter. With the crown bestowing nobility on so many people here and there I don't think anyone will ask twice about it."

"But why?"

Draco eyed the empty chamber thankful that Thomas had taken his leave. He needed to be alone with Theo for what he was about to tell.

"Do you trust me, Theo?" Draco asked solemnly.

"What kind of stupid question is that, Draco?" Theo growled.

"Then trust me with this decision. It's just that … she feels different, Theo! You keep harping about these gentry' ladies but do you think that for a second they would look kindly at Mother's condition. You saw what happened with Astoria. You saw how much Mother worsened after that incident. And you know what will happen if the news of her condition escapes.

The one thing I have learned in all these years dealing with people is that faces don't lie. This woman, yes, I don't know her. Yes, her parents damned her but she is still clinging onto whatever that is left of them. She knows what family means. Though I plan on keeping them far from each other but she will have to stay here at least for the first few months anyway, to attend the necessary balls and theater to appoint her position as my duchess. And she seemed kind, well, kind enough that if she knew about Mother which will be inevitable when we get married and stay here, she won't run off to tattle it to the first person she encounters." Draco finished with a sigh.

"So all this … sacrificing is for your Mother?" Theo asked softly.

"I would hardly call it sacrificing, Theo. as you said I would just have to tolerate her for a few months. After that, she can retire back to her beloved home and I can return back to the life I have always lead. And if marrying a one-eyed hag would keep mother safe then I would do it without any further question. After what she has gone through all her life this is the least I can give her. A safe place." Draco ran his hands through his hair dishevelling the carefully pulled back style that Thomas had so painstakingly done.

"What about an heir?"

"What about it? Every woman desires a child clutching to her skirts and I would so very selflessly give her that. And she really doesn't look like a one-eyed hag, so getting her with a child won't be a problem. Or I could just take your advice and do it in the dark with my eyes closed thinking about that beguiling widow that I have been shagging," Draco said with a sardonic smirk.

"I still insist you think this through," Theo pushed.

"And I have. I am not budging from my decision."

Theo's sigh sounded tired to Draco's ears and he knew that there would be no more complaints regarding this subject from Theo's side.

"If that's what you want then you have my total support. When are you going to meet her?" Theo questioned.

"I was supposed to meet her a week ago to discuss the agreement but then Mother had another one of her episodes and by the time I took care of that, the northern estate had badly flooded and the tenants needed my help. The next thing I know a week has passed taking care of that. We now have less time left so I made the agreements, any changes she wants, within a limit, can be added later on."

"So you are going now?" Theo asked.

"Now," Draco said as he pulled on his pristine white gloves.

"Do you need me to go with you?" Theo asked with a faint hint of derision tilting the corner of his lips for he already knew the answer to the question.

"What am I, a child? Of course, not. I can take care of this myself."

If rolling one's eyes amidst polite company, not that Lord Nott could be counted was one, wasn't considered crass Draco would have just done that.

 **.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'**

It was one of those rare mornings where the sun shone like spun gold and the sky sported a cheerful cerulean blue with tufts of gauzy white clouds roaming aimlessly in it. The rain had colored the trees a bit greener and made the roads a little muddier. The streets were filled with people taking advantage of the fickle sunny climate with their face raised toward the warm sky seeking the sunshine like that of a faithful dog seeking its masters' affection.

In reference to the marvelous weather Draco had forgone the opulent but constricting ducal carriage and instead had rode his stallion, Stephan, along. It took him a little more than two hours to reach this 'Rose Villa'.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that it needed a gigantic amount of renovation. The years of neglect and paucity of money had given the house a gaunt and old appearance but the strong base and the artistry of the architecture signified of the beauty it would have been once in its youth.

Draco slowed his mouth my rubbing a gentle hand on its neck and found the gate to the villa ajar with no one guarding its entrance. He stepped down from his horse and looked around. On finding no one, he strode towards the front door and knocked.

No one answered.

Draco frowned and knocked again three more times in a rapid succession. The door still remained closed.

 _This was ridiculous! Where was the butler? Wasn't opening the damn door and taking the name of the caller his main duty?_

It had been ten long minutes since he had first knocked and he was yet to see a soul. A touch of uncertainty passed through him. What if Theo was right? What if Miss Granger wasn't agreeable to the deal? What is she had already found another way to save her house?

Draco doubted she would have found a pot of gold in this weed-filled garden but what if she had got help from someone else. He should have sent a missive earlier regarding his tardiness. What if she had taken his delay as a sign of him backtracking from their arrangement? He had already wasted nearly a fortnight, secure in the decision that he had already chosen the bride. He had no time or the patience to start from the square one.

Draco wouldn't name the feeling running inside him as panic but it was close. Too close. He didn't know the reason why it had to be _her._ He hadn't lied when he said that he had chosen her for the sake of his mother or for the sake of lack of the problem she would create in the future. But a little part of him wanted … wanted her… a pox on that woman for making him feel so conflicted. It must have that damn scent of hers that was meddling with his mind. The scent that slowed his steps when he strode through his mother's favorite roses. The scent that made him linger a little longer that he usually did on the breakfast table.

With a frustrated sigh, Draco thought of inspecting the back door hoping to get a clue. Before he could turn something ran past him making a terrified cluck, cluck sound. He moved his head to the side to see a couple of terrified chickens running as if their life was on the line. Well, at least Miss Granger had chickens.

How appallingly plebeian of her!

"CROOKSKANKS! Don't you dare scare the chickens again or Martha will have my head on a platter-"

Draco winced as someone screamed like a banshee. He was about to turn to check who in the Lord's name was creating such a racket when something big, orange and certainly ugly jumped on him. Or rather on his face, if one wanted to be precise.

Then everything happened in a blink of an eye.

Draco screamed.

The offending banshee screamed.

And the creature that should have been declared as an abomination of nature screeched.

Before Draco could realize what was happening a soft warm body crashed into him and he would have gladly taken its weight but seeing as he busy, trying to shake off that damnable creature from his face, he fell on his arse.

With an oomph, Draco landed on his backside with an armful of a wriggling woman and a mouthful of her unruly curls. His body was so jarred that all he could do was stay still and take in deep breaths willing the pain to subside.

And there it was, that _scent_.

Of roses and vanilla … and something else too … something revolting.

Eggs? Raw eggs?

The damn woman was squirming and struggling, trying to get up but her hands kept slipping.

Draco tried to admonish her but found he couldn't talk with a mouthful of hair so he spat it out.

"Will you stop moving for a second, woman?" Draco said exasperatedly.

The woman stopped writhing and went still as a statue. She raised herself by putting her hands on his chest.

"My … my Lord?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Miss Granger, so very nice to meet you again. Would have expected to meet in a nicer setting but the hard ground beneath me is quite alright too," Draco drawled.

If she caught on his sarcasm she ignored it.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned suspiciously.

The silence of the countryside with the lazy morning sun and the slight frown that graced her face tempted a sudden and absurd want in him to kiss it off. Before the errant and horrid thought would result in action he shoved it away blaming it on too much sun.

Seeing as she wasn't about to budge and he was deigned to carry out this conversation splayed indecently in the front lawn of her garden, Draco made himself comfortable.

"I think I made myself clear about my intentions," Draco said slowly thinking the alcohol that night might have made her seem more intelligent than she appeared for she was asking stupid questions.

"Oh!" she looked surprised.

"Yes. Oh!" Draco replied with a slight grin tipping his lips.

And he found that he was enjoying this … a little too much then he should. Her slight warm weight on him was a welcome feeling. The pain that had jolted his back had now receded and blossomed into something else. Something else that even he wasn't ready yet to acknowledge it to himself.

"But you never came that day," she said in a slight voice as if she was hurt somehow.

Draco frowned.

"I had to take care of some matters of utmost urgency. I apologize I should have sent a missive," Draco muttered.

And then he did something that even he could never imagine The Lord Draco Malfoy would do. He leaned in and sniffed her hair.

"What in God's name! Did you just sniff my hair?" she asked in a tone as if he had gone daft. In her mad rush in being affronted Draco realized that she had ignored how her whole body was aligned with his. Her breast to his chest and her hips to his. Her breasts were surprisingly full and heavy, that he had failed to notice last time he had seen her. He imagined if he cupped them then they would spill out from his hands. And the dress she wore now was as atrocious as the last one but at least it fitted her body displaying her curves at all the right places.

Oh, Theo! How wrong he was, Draco thought with a smile. No, this woman won't be a problem to bed at all. He might find it even pleasurable and that damn scent of hers …

"Yes, I did. I do recognize the rose and vanilla scent. You smelled the same last time too. But what is this disgusting odour? If you are trying out some new daft fashion fad then I order you to cease right now. There is nothing more revolting than the smell of raw eggs," Draco said with a scowl.

"What raw eggs?" She looked astonished. "Oh God! Oh God! My eggs? My eggs!"

Before he could ask what was so important about her eggs, she struggled to get off him with renewed vigor. For the next few minutes they were just a naught but a wild jumble of tangled limbs. Draco tried to calm her but that only made her fight harder. Her elbows and knees were jabbing him here and there in her haste to get up. And then one of the unfortunate knees landed in a place where it should never have landed. _A very, very delicate place._

Before this day if anyone had dared to ask Lord Draco Malfoy that, had he ever screamed like a little girl, he would have sneered his handsome aristocratic face and called the person out to walk the dreaded twenty paces at the crack of the dawn with their pistols loaded.

But sadly a lady-like shriek did erupt from his lordly throat, a shriek that would have put even a seasoned banshee to shame.

 **.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'**

Hermione Granger couldn't believe she had kicked a Duke. A Duke in the … uh … in the … umm … rather delicate area. Lord, she can't even think about it in her mind.

His once pristine royal blue waistcoat and the fawn coloured breeches were now stained. There were three distinctive nasty smelling yellow coloured patches on his waistcoat from the three eggs that she had stowed in her apron pocket for safe keeping. A fat lot of good that did. His severely pulled back hair dotted with dry dead leaves had loosened enough that some of the strands had fallen onto his face, she could even make out some darker shades in the sea of platinum blond. With his every deep exhale the stands would dance and then land in a different place to begin the process again.

Well, he didn't look like a dandy anymore. And Hermione realized that she liked the severe Duke looking a bit tussled and worse for the wear. He looked approachable now. Almost touchable.

Lord Malfoy sat in the wing-backed chair with his legs sprawled out, eyes covered with a wet cloth, and breathing heavily. His face clenched white with pain … or was it anger.

After she had _accidentally_ kicked the Duke in a rather delicate area, he had screamed loud enough for John and Martha to come running from the kitchen. John had a broomstick in his hand while Martha had wielded one of her favorite pans. Hermione didn't know what had they intended to do with the said weapons, but she had a vague idea that they had mistaken the Duke's screams for hers.

John had then heard her panicked retelling while the Duke had curled himself into a foetal position on the ground writhing as if he was dying. Amidst a lot of grunting from the duke, profuse apologies from hers, and silent laughter from John, they had half-carried and half-dragged the Duke to the sitting room.

"I am so, so sorry! I didn't mean to do _that._ " Hermione apologized for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Don't!" He ground out between clenched teeth.

"But I am. So, so very sorry!" Hermione pleaded.

"We are _never_ going to talk about this … this incident. Ever!" he seethed.

"Umm … about me kicking … or you retching on my shoes-"

"Yes! About both of them. That never happened. Are we clear, Miss Granger?" He shook out the cloth from his eyes and scowled at her.

"Of course, my lord," Hermione said a little too easily. For all her innocence regarding the worldliness, she knew one thing ... she knew about the fragile ego of men.

"And what in the Lord's name is that orange beast. It looked like a monster!" he asked, horror marring his face.

"Do not call my Crookskanks that. He is an absolute darling," Hermione said hotly defending her lone pet that had warmed her feet many a cold night.

"A _darling_ that bloody scratched my face," he sneered.

"Well, it's just a tiny scratch. It won't even leave a scar. And it's not even his fault, he thought you are an intruder."

"More like an obstacle in the path to devour those innocent chickens. God! The eleventh Duke of Wiltshire scratched in the face by a beastly cat and kicked in the bullocks by his own bride. London would have a hell of a scandalous day if this got out."

"You don't have to worry. It's not like I am going to spread chatter about you," Hermione said in a huff. "And if you look at it this way, not that I am saying, but you kind of deserved it. You did make me wait for a week," Hermione added further in an undertone.

"Did you say anything?" Draco growled.

"Oh, no. Not a word, Your Grace," Hermione said in a mock humbled tone.

Hermione watched as Draco placed the cold cloth back on his eyes and said monotonously. "You do realize that I heard that."

"Well, then why did you ask?" Hermione asked indignantly.

Draco snatched the cloth from his face again and looked incredulously at her. "I do remember a far more docile woman the last time we had met."

"And I remember man soused to up to his eyeballs. I can't believe I left my fate in your hands. Now I might as well have lost the only thing dear to me."

Fast as a whip he got up from the chair but the pain from his injury must have made itself felt as he fell back in a heap biting back a grimace. "I had already informed you the reasons that delayed me. And Malfoys never go back on their word. Now do you want your house back or not?"

"Of course I do. It's the only thing I ever wanted."

"Then do go over the agreement paper. They are in the front pocket of my overcoat," Draco said impatiently.

"You really want to do this?" Hermione asked as both hope and fear danced together in her heart.

He just waved his hands in the general direction of his overcoat flung upon the settee.

With trembling hands, Hermione fished out the thick bundle of papers and with a sigh sat to read about her future. As each word imprinted on her mind, hope filled the broken part of her heart that had learned the bitter truth of the world in the worst possible way ... that part which had pinched over every penny spent in the last few years.

The naive girl who had once danced the whole night in a white dress believing in the forever kind of love, dreaming of stolen kisses and long courtship got lost somewhere.

And it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Hey, my peeps! Happy and a safe Diwali to all of you. Sorry for being late but you know life and shit happens but holy freaking Yayyyyyy for 100 reviews._**

 ** _Again a big fat thank you to the adorable Ray for beta-ing._**

 ** _Okay, I have a work for all of you guys. This story is something I started off as a lark, didn't know it would garner so much love. Though I have a solid idea where this is heading but it's going to take some time (I am writing as I am posting) so bear with me. Please. And if you want to incorporate some scene or instances (both fluff and angst and smut ;-) then send it to me. If I can work it anywhere in the story then you could help me in writing that chapter. Maybe. It's up to you._**

 ** _Anyway, don't forget to_ _review,_ _they kick me to write faster_.**

* * *

 _"So let me get this correct, on top of acquitting my father's debt, you are also planning to provide me with a generous amount of pin money? Forgive me for sounding so churlish, my lord, but that is not needed. It is quite enough that you are relieving me of this debt and I don't need to be further in your favour."_

 _The smile in his voice was not one of warmth, but rather of mocking condescension, and as he spoke, his honeyed voice slipped between his teeth like venom, "Do not perceive this situation as any more than it is, Miss Granger. You have certain standards to uphold and as a duchess, are entitled to a dowager house, however, your father's place will fit perfectly in that clause, and pin money. You must keep up appearances, the money will help with that, and after all, I've seen the monstrosities you dress yourself in usually."_

 _"Of course, Your Grace." Maybe it was the slight disappointment eclipsing her face that she herself wasn't aware of because he said the next lines in a far more solemn voice._

 _"Miss Granger, this is purely a business transaction. A deal in which we both gain something at the end. Do not make the mistake of thinking it anything else. And I would advise you to never go down that path because you will find nothing but regret in that journey. Do we understand each other, Miss Granger?"_

 _"Clearly, Your Grace. But I do have a question. It seems as if I am the one doing all the gaining. I will gain my house, substantial money every month, and a secure future. What will you gain?" She asked pointedly._

 _"Don't worry about that. I will have my inheritance and in time an heir for the ducal-ship and isn't that what ton marriages are all about." He flicked the question with a wave as one would do with a pesky fly._

 _"Yes, about the heir-" She started, heat suffusing her cheeks making them red._

 _"Again, do not be concerned about that. You will only have to live in the Manor for the first two months after the marriage, as imperative persons of the society will be making calls to see us. We will have to attend some balls and musicals together for propriety sake, there will talk about our hasty wedding as it is. And then you can come back and reside here in your house with the occasional forays into society, which we have to make together. I will make the necessary visits till I beget you with the requisite heir and spare. After that, you are free to do as you wish. But if you do take a lover then I advise you to be discrete about it, as I will be with my affairs, after all, we will have a reputation to maintain."_

 _"Yes, of course, my Lord. Shall I start interviewing for the position of my lovers? Or should I wait before the requisite heir makes its appearance? And I suppose, you on the virtue of your gender will not bound by the same constraints as I." She replied baldly. She had no expectations from him but the emotionless way he intoned the affairs that they could play in within the vows of their marriage sparked something restless inside her._

 _He got up from the chair and strolled towards her with the swagger of a man confident in his way. He stopped in front of her, so close that his boots and hers were kissing and her gown brushed his breeches. So close that she could make out the colour of his eye. And it was a colour she had never seen before. It was gray like the wisps of the smoke of a dying fire, like the silvery moon of a winter night, like the storm brewing in the distant sea. Unforgiving. Cold. Beautiful._

 _"Well, the first lesson on being a Duchess, Miss Granger. Refrain from making sarcastic comments it's considered highly plebeian. And Malfoys are anything but common. I would recommend you do wait for the obligatory heir before you indulge in your baser instincts for I do not want someone else's bastard as my heir. I can assure you that whatever time you spend in my bed will be nothing but the absolute pleasure." He leaned down closing in the distance in between them created by their height. So close that his breath fanned across her cheeks and sent a shiver up her spine. "Think of this as testing the goods before purchase."_

 _The cold smile that played on his lips was doing the opposite to her insides. It was filling her with so much warmth that it felt like someone had lit a fire and forgot to put it out._

 _Before she could comprehend his lips crashed into hers and they were anything but cold. It was nothing like the kiss her silly foolish heart had imagined. And it was absolutely nothing like the wet sloppy kiss the vicar's son had stolen from her behind the church one Sunday._

 _It was neither soft nor quixotic. And it completely stole her breath._

 _The kiss was exactly like him. It was demanding and arduous and coaxing. He didn't force her to open her lips or forcefully stuck his tongue down her throat. He kissed in such a manner that it felt almost innocent for a sinner like him._

 _He leaned back and broke the kiss while she stood uselessly as an umbrella in a storm. He ran the back of his hand lightly on her cheek and smirked. "Breathe. And don't forget to be ready in a week's time … Duchess."_

 **.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'**

The rhythmic soft clip-clop of the horses lulled Hermione into sleep only to be jerked back with a start. Even the overtly lavish carriage of the duke decked with all the things one would need in a journey and more couldn't smoothen out the bumpy English roads. The green countryside flew past her, leaving everything she held dear behind in a blur of memories and melancholy. She stared down at her lap for the other option was to look at the man sprawled delicately in the seat opposite to her. Her husband.

 _Her husband!_

The light twinkling from the extravagant wedding ring broke no argument that she was at last married. Even if she tried to hide it amidst the folds of her wedding gown, the solid weight of it forbid all this to be forgotten as one would do with a nightmare.

Unlike her squally mood her wedding day had arrived with gusto and the sun as its guest. Martha had fished out her mother's wedding gown and with a bit of nip and tuck, it was perfect for her. It was something like a princess would wear. The ivory coloured satin gown was simple but oh so elegant. It was clinched just below her breast and flowed straight as a simmering waterfall with a lovely train behind. In the time where hoops and skirts were all the rage this simple design was different and beautiful. The satin underskirt was overlaid with another sheer layer that was filled with embroidered floral motifs. The neckline was a bit daring for her taste but she didn't want to alter it. The sleeves were long and brushed her knuckles, and they were without ruffles that would have made someone of her stature look bulky but were edged with lace in the cuffs which Hermione was sure her mother herself had stitched.

Martha, as a wedding gift had meticulously added a chain of delicate roses along the hem in the soft colour of periwinkle blue, making it her something blue. On the back, a row of tiny buttons fastened by means of rouleau loops were present that reached till her waist.

And Hermione absolutely hated that she was wrinkling it with her wringing and nervousness. Like a restless child unable to keep her hands to herself she touched her mother's pearls, the smooth contours of it feeling like a talisman. The slight tremor that passed through her body made nausea rumbling in her belly worse. A slight smile played on her lips as she imagined it would be a tit for his tat if she retched all over the pristine clothes of His Grace.

"Should I inquire about that evil smile on your lips?" the sardonic voice of her husband pulled her back from her musings.

"You might, My Lord. But I don't think you will like the answer." She did not know from where this cheekiness was coming from. With everything turning surreal she didn't even know who she was anymore.

"Well, now I am intrigued." Draco leaned forward.

"It's nothing as sinister as you are thinking, My Lord. It's just that all this anxiety is making me nauseous and I was just thinking if I retched all over your shoes then I would be just returning your favour."

Lord Draco shrunk back from her in a flash as if she was going to hurl all over him in a moment. Trust Hermione who had always been least bothered by her appearance to marry a complete dandy. "I thought we were never going to talk about that incident."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"I observed that you didn't buy a new wedding dress. I thought all the women jumped in glee on the occasion of buying new clothes. What? The money wasn't enough?" he said in a slightly patronizing tone.

Hermione smoothed the folds of her skirt and smiled fondly. "This dress was my mother's. And anyway why to waste money on something that I would only wear once in my life."

The smile on their faces, when Martha saw her new gown and John his new waistcoat, had given her all the happiness she was sure she would have gained from a new gown. And somehow being in the dress her mother wore on her wedding made Hermione feel closer to her.

"Now that you are the Duchess of Wiltshire I command you to abscond your frugal ways. You have an image to portray to the society."

Is this what her life will be from now on, him commanding her ways and she meekly nodding to it?

When she was bidding goodbye to Martha and John to embark on a journey which would take her to a, though temporary but a completely new world, Martha had hugged her hard. And with the last of her tears drying Martha had whispered her to be strong. She had whispered that although the circumstances might have forced them to be together but it doesn't have to be this way. Hermione had no illusion that the duke would one day look at her and fall madly in love, that didn't happen in real life. It was the books where the lordly rake falls for the unworldly nobody. But she would be damned before she laid down and played dead like a weakling. So she would be strong, strong enough to make this transaction work. Not out of love for she knew what love did to people but if they found some semblance of respect, she would make this work.

After all, Hermione Granger was no coward.

"I suggest you do not worry about that, My Lord. I have used the fund you had so graciously presented in by buying some new gowns. I don't think the working gowns I usually wear will be appreciated in your Manor. The new ones are not of the current fashion but I think they will do for now."

"Do not think that I didn't notice the renovations in your house or the new clothes your servants were sporting. I acknowledge you are doing this farce of a marriage for your house but I will not have you tarnish the Malfoy name with ridicule and derision. For better or for worse you are a Duchess now and I expect you to behave thus. If you want I can set up another account for the restorations."

"You have done enough, my Lord. And I can manage my matters on my own. You need not be concerned about that. And I have received all the knowledge about dealing in proper society, far more than any of your society misses. The society might paint women like me who love books more than trivial gossip about who is having an affair with whom as bluestockings but there is nothing overrated about being knowledgeable. I can hold my own and you have nothing to worry about me sullying your name," she said hotly.

"We will see, My lady. We will see."

And with a cutting smile that Hermione had no energy to decipher, he went back to reading his papers.

.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'

Draco didn't know what had possessed him to kiss her so last week. He had started it as something to put her in her place, to show her that he would always have the upper hand in their relationship, but the game had turned in on himself. She had done nothing but stood there like a statue but a sea of things had been going inside him. He had to physically restrain himself from bending her over and kiss the devil out of her.

For the first time in his life, Draco felt something. He had bedded scores of women, a lot more than he could remember, the next one more beautiful than the last, and their sensual prowess which would even bring the staunchest of loyal men to their feet. But this, this he wasn't prepared for. This naïve woman was waking up things inside him that he had thought to be dead long ago. Maybe it was the thought of bedding a virgin for the first time that was making him feel so possessive, the thought of going to a place where no one has ever been. To be the first man to introduce her to the pleasures of flesh … of sin.

Maybe his father was right. Maybe he was a lot philistine inside then he let the outside world see. He didn't want to become his father, governed by his cock … his desire.

That was the reason why Draco had not kissed properly his bride on their wedding. The minute he had seen her, clad in the beautiful gown and walking serenely towards him alongside that servant of hers, the only thing that had hit him was lust. And it had hit him like, like a punch to his solar plexus. When the vicar had declared them as man and wife he had to force himself to just peck her on the cheek like one would do to a cousin sister. He knew the struggle he had to do with himself from turning his head and tasting her delectable lips.

Draco berated himself, he shouldn't have accompanied her in the carriage. The closed space filled with her distinct perfume was making his brain hazy and making him see things. Things like the way she bothered her lips, biting and chewing till they were red as roses. Things like the way her wedding gown clung to her curves displaying a lot more of those creamy mounds than he had seen previously. Or, how her hair which had a mind of its own had escaped his confines and now framed her face and how he was having a hard time taking his eyes off the one strand that had landed between her breasts.

Draco could feel himself growing hard and all he could think was to flip her gown and take what was his already. But this was his wife.

 _His wife._

One didn't behave with one's wife as one would do with their mistress.

And those feelings contradicting each other inside him were what made him behave more boorishly than he should have. Here he was picking out faults when he should be telling her how beautiful she looked. Don't all women want to be admired on their wedding day? But the thing was if Draco extolled her now he wouldn't be being mendacious toward her because he sincerely found her beautiful.

The ivory of her gown, the pink in her cheeks and the colour of her hair made her look stunning. And with the grace she had carried herself, she would have surpassed any of the gentry' woman that the ton produced. The society would be talking as it as he had married an unknown country miss. There would be speculations, conjectures, and busybodies whispering behind hand-fans but with the way she was answering him now, Draco was sure she would manage herself.

He wasn't supposed to feel this turmoil. Wasn't this supposed to be a clear cut business transaction? Wasn't this supposed to be a deal where he got what he wanted and then be done with it?

Well, it was just for two months. And then he can bind these daft emotions and put them in a place where he couldn't step onto them again. A visit to the gentlemen's club and maybe a night with his paramour, who he hadn't visited for a month, might just cure him of these daft feelings. And he could later exploit this compassionate side of her if she ever knew about his mother's condition.

As the carriage turned into the familiar driveway and the shape of the manor formed in front, Draco took in a deep breath.

For the past couple of days, the manor had been in an uproar. The staff was excited to welcome the new Duchess home, only Theo, Winston and Thomas knew about the truth of his marriage.

The carriage stopped smoothly in front of the main door. All the staff milled around eager to make acquaintance. Winston stood at the front, regal and astute with his powdered face and wig. Draco got off first and extended his hand inside to help the duchess but no one held on to it. He looked back inside to say her to hurry up when he saw her bloodless face. She was absolutely terrified. He didn't know what made him do it but he whispered softly. "It will be okay. They are good people. You won't have to do anything just smile and nod when Winston makes the introductions." With trembling hands, she clasped onto him. She took in a deep breath as if readying herself to some unforeseeable fate as they stood side by side.

Before Draco could introduce her to Winston, something ran past him screeching like a monster and just like that utter mayhem broke out.

Like blowing on a dandelion seed the footmen, servants, and scullery maids gathered to welcome the new lady of the manor ran hither and thither as a humongous orange ball of fur ran amongst them hissing and growling all the while. Maids jumped away from its path onto the stairs while a footman landed on his arse as the cat ran in between his legs. While everything was going to hell in a handbasket all around, his butler stood serenely within it like the eye of a storm. Draco was gladly waiting for a day when something would faze Winston.

"Oh, lord no!" His wife moaned beside him.

This cannot be happening. That ruddy thing was here. He had specifically seen when Miss Granger had bid the growling monster farewell. That thing must have sat silently plotting this while he was busy lusting over its mistress. Or maybe his wife wasn't that innocent.

"Do you have a hand in this?" he asked impatiently.

"Of course not! You saw when I left him back at home. He must have hidden in the carriage when we weren't looking." As another terrified yelp grabbed their attention towards the pandemonium the stupid cat was causing, she muttered to herself. "I didn't even know he could run this fast?"

"Oh, that _thing_ can. When it comes to scaring people he can run like the devil." And before he could ask one of the footmen to catch the beast or rather sedate it, which would be a bloody marvelous thing, his wife picked up her skirts up and ran after the cat.

"Crookskanks! Come back right this instant!" she screamed.

 _Duchess' never spoke loudly let alone scream._

Draco looked in horror as his wife of a couple of hours, his duchess run after a cat with a determined face and her skirts held high. Even her slender ankles were on display for all and sundry to see.

This cannot be happening.

He watched as a couple of worried footmen joined Hermione in curbing the monster. And this went on for the next five minutes, five minutes that felt like five ages and like a man who was way over his head he stood still like a damn statue. As if recovering from a nightmare he strode after his wife who was now on her hands and knees searching behind a hedge for the wayward feline.

"Hermione stand up this instant."

"Just a moment, my lord. This is a new place for him and he must be scared."

"Oh, I don't think he is the one who is scared. Now for the love of god woman, get up!"

"Your Grace, shall I interfere?" Winston's calm and collected voice broke through the bedlam. Both Draco and Hermione turned to look at him, only to find him holding the cumbersome cat who was now purring loudly enough to drown the commotion around it.

"Thank you, good sir! You have been a bad boy, Crooks." His wife turned apologetic eyes towards his butler.

"My lady, this is Winston, the family butler," Draco pointed towards Winston.

"How rude of me!" and with that Hermione Malfoy, the eleventh duchess of Wiltshire, bent to do a perfect curtsy to the butler.

Draco for the first time could see the flabbergasted expression on Winston's face and the blush that was forming beneath his heavily powdered face. Draco was sure in all his life Winston has never been curtsied to and that too by a duchess.

With a grimace as his cheek smarted from a long forgotten slap, he thought of the talk he would be having with his wife for the proper etiquette one showed to their servants.

"Winston, show her grace around the manor and to her rooms. Also, assign a lady's maid to the duchess to help her in unpacking and for god's sake do something of that monster."

"Do something? What do you mean by doing something? You can't just throw him out! Or are you thinking about-" she looked so horrified that Draco had to snap his teeth from bursting out into a laugh.

"No, I am not thinking about killing it. What I meant was to take that cat to the barn or something." He ignored the cat that was now growling at him.

"But he hasn't stayed in a barn ever."

"Be that as maybe but I am not having that thing running all over and scaring my staff," he said with a finality and as he was turning her soft voice stopped him.

"You are leaving?" her too wide eyes and slight quiver in her voice said that she was terrified and valiantly trying not to show. He shouldn't be leaving her alone in a house full of people she didn't know about but this was not included in their contract. He should just leave and pay a visit in the night to consummate their marriage.

He should, shouldn't he?

"I have wasted half of the morning as it is. I have a large estate to manage. And you will be fine with Winston," he said in an undertone. He didn't know what made him say the next few words. "But I will be joining you for dinner in the dining room sharp at eight. So be ready, my lady."

And with a slight nod to his butler Draco marched towards his study. He could still hear Winston introducing her to the staff and reassuring that her beast wouldn't go hungry in the barn. He could still hear as she greeted each and every member of his staff by their name with respect and warmth.

He could still hear the excitement and chatter reverbing around the manor that had witnessed so much silence in the past, till he shut the door of his study with a thud. And with a flood of emotions that he didn't know what to do with he set out to do tedious paperwork, work that his manager could have easily done.

 **.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.**

"My Lord, perhaps the royal blue neckcloth would suit you better for I have in good faith that this certain colour, how shall I phrase it, ah yes, this certain colour makes your eyes pop out," Thomas intoned as Draco oscillated indecisively over two cravats.

"Thomas, you should probably stop listening to Theo when he is talking fashion, or better just stop listening to him," Draco said inattentively. The blue did make his eyes pop out, or so his mistress had fluttered in more than one occasion.

"Be that as it may, but you must look your absolute best for the duchess. And if it seems satisfactory, can I congratulate on choosing such a marvelous duchess."

"Many thanks, dear Thomas but there is no more need of impressing I am already bound by the old ball and chain. And has the said marvelous duchess settled in all right in her quarters?"

"Being the Lord of the manor it would have more appreciated if you had directly cleared your concerns rather than asking your old valet. Moreover, as you are aware of, the duchess's quarters are aligned to yours, my lord. It's just the question of knocking and asking," Thomas said with a sniff.

"That's enough, Thomas," Draco said with a slight smile. For the love of all that's holy, he could never encourage anger towards Thomas's nagging.

"As you wish, Your Grace. And to answer your question, yes, the duchess has settled in quite nicely. Winston had assigned a lovely girl to act as her lady's maid," Thomas said with a sigh as he unnecessarily arranged his perfectly set waistcoat.

"Hmmm, and stop fussing. With the way you are fretting one would think I am preparing to pay the queen a call rather than having dinner in my own house."

With a slight curtsy, Thomas vacated his room.

Draco thought to himself as he fiddled with his cufflinks. Yes, the proper thing would have been to ask her about how she was settling in as Thomas had rightly pointed out the proximity of their quarters.

The Duke and Duchess quarters were joined by a connective door, a door he had no urge to knock as of yet. By the time he had made it to his own chambers to get ready for dinner he could only hear the muffled sound of conversation from the adjoining room, and that too had stopped by now. He should knock on the door and accompany her to the dining hall as the proper decorum but something pulled his feet back. He didn't want to be with her any more than that was necessary and with that thought, he strode away resolutely for dinner.

When he reached the dining hall he saw that the staff had pulled out all the stops in preparing the room for their celebratory meal. The room was bathed in the soft glow of numerous candlelight as two places were set in the grand dining table that could have easily housed twenty people. A cold bottle of wine perspired on the table beside two delicate glasses as a monstrous arrangement of flowers filled the air with their perfume.

Soft footfalls followed by the barely there sound of Winston announcing the duchess' presence pulled Draco back to the moment. And when he turned, he totally wasn't ready to face what was standing in front of him.

Miss Grang- or rather he should start thinking her as Lady Malfoy stood, a bit uncertainly in a pale pink gown that seemed to shimmer in the candlelight. The gown clung to her curves as one would do to its lover, displaying a hint of cleavage. It took more than a moment for Draco to break out from the trance and move forward to present her with his hand. She curtsied gracefully before placing her hands in his.

"You look lovely, my lady, as you did today in the morning," Draco said crisply before he bent to place a fleeting kiss on her gloved hand. He waited till Winston pulled the chair back for her to sit before he sat.

"Wine, My Lady?" he asked.

"Yes, My Lord," she said demurely.

Draco filled her glass with the pungent wine before asking if the arrangements were up to mark or not. With impeccable manners that could rival a princess, his dirty duchess managed herself while answering in affirmative. Maybe it was pride that filled him or maybe it was relief that his hasty decision wouldn't mortify the Malfoy name and with that thought bouncing around in his head, Draco dug into his own meal.

Amidst inconsequential small talks about everything and nothing and a number of courses that he could barely keep a count of Draco realized that Hermione had gulped half the bottle of wine. He watched as she pushed her glass forward to refill for the third time. Afraid that he had married a closet drunkard he observed her carefully. And he noticed, he noticed the slight trembling of her hands and the death grip she had on her spoon. He noticed the paleness of her face and the fastness of her breath whenever his hands touched hers.

Draco realized that she was terrified, deathly afraid and most certainly for what was about to happen on their wedding night. After all, it must be her first night with a man and for that, a little bit of liquid courage wasn't uncalled for.

As it was his duty to assuage her maidenly fears he placed his hands on her trembling ones and said in a soft voice. "Miss Granger, are you nervous about the wedding night?"

"What! No. I mean maybe. A little. Yes, I am nervous," she said in a rush as if afraid if she didn't say it in one go she would never have the courage. Draco was sure it was the wine talking.

"Well, then I suggest you cease that. The first time is never pleasant for a woman but I shall strive to make it enjoyable for both of our sakes," he said sagely.

"Of course you would know about all the first times you have had spent with the women," she said under her breath.

Draco didn't call her out for that statement for he didn't want her to know that this was also his first in bedding a … virgin. Ignoring the sudden surge of possessiveness coursing through him he ordered for the dessert plates to be cleared off.

"Would you like to retire to the sitting room for a glass of wine before we retire for the night?"

"I think I have had enough of wine to last a lifetime. Just give me a moment to get ready," she said anxiously. Draco didn't get the logic behind dressing up for bed for he will be doing everything he could to get her out of it.

 _"You can do it, Hermione. You can certainly do it. Just lay still and it will be finished even before you know…"_

Draco heard her clearly grousing unwittingly under her breath as she took leave from the dining room. He impulsively burst into laughter on hearing her pep talk. Oh, how wrong she was. She certainly was going to feel … feel a lot of things. And laying still would be the last thing she would be doing.

After all, he was Draco sodding Malfoy and he never did anything halfway.


	6. Chapter 6

_First of all 'thank you' for all the immense love and lovely reviews. To answer some of your questions-_

 _Yes, I am an Indian. And 'Gaervan', I was certainly leaning towards those situations. ;-)_

 _And to those who felt that I should have expanded more on the wedding, it's just that the main story pans out after their marriage so I didn't focus that much on their wedding._ _I know Draco shouldn't be having these feelings for her this early- they are not 'feelings'. It' just that, Draco is just being horny. He is used to taking anything he wants and likes. And as always he is clueless about himself so he is really just confused. He wants to bed her, he doesn't want to bed her, and so it goes on. So if the story feels confused it's because he is. Sorry, I couldn't word this situation any better, but I assure you Draco has a shit load of work to do before he does 'it' with Hermione._

 _**Narcissa is referred to here as 'dowager duchess'._

 _**Hermione is referred to here as- 'her ladyship/her grace/lady Malfoy'._

 _I know the chapter is short but it didn't fit with the next one so I posted it as it is, and kindly point out the mistakes, if there are any, so that I can rectify them. And don't worry, Daphne and Theo will make their entrance soon along with so many other characters._

 _So have patience and keep on reviewing. Love you all a loads._

* * *

The slow burn descended down his throat again filling his belly with warmth, as Draco knocked back yet another glass of whiskey. He was completely confused as to what she had done to gain their approval. The staff, Thomas and even the perpetually surly Winston was absolutely enamoured with the new duchess, and quite honestly, neither did he really care.

Now, all that was left to do was to bed her and consummate the bloody marriage. He was damn sure that this absurd excitement to shag her was nothing but the novelty of tasting something new, something untouched. A tiring bout of bed-sport with the inappropriate duchess would certainly cure him of this bizarre urge. Once the newness of this situation subsided he was definite that he would go back to his usual ways. His usual way of sinking himself in work and women.

With a flick of his wrist, he downed the rest of the whiskey and called for Winston and a little time later, without disappointing he appeared, as if materializing out of thin air. Draco had an image in his mind of the surly butler on tenterhooks always anticipating the master's call.

"Did you order the staff to not inform about mother's condition to the new duchess?"

"Of course, my lord. As you had ordered I have directed the staff to not discuss dowager duchess's condition to Her Ladyship." Winston said and after pausing for a second he added. "My Lord, if I am not being overtly bold and overstepping my limitations, can I ask you a question?"

"Ask away, Winston."

"Do you have a mind to keep the new duchess ignorant of _this_ situation forever? Because from what I have gleaned her ladyship is a quite curious lady. It would be difficult to hide such an essential part of the manor from her. "

"For now, Winston. We will keep it from her for now. I do not want to cause Mother undue duress. And if the new duchess isn't conducive to Mother's condition then her being ignorant about this is the best possible way. Anyway, Lady Malfoy will be out of here by the end of the month and then she will be visiting the manor only in the occasions needed for us to make an appearance in the society. So I don't suppose she needs to know unless the situation forces my hand."

"Oh, is that so, my Lord?" Winston said in a voice that sounded a little sardonic to his ears.

"Why, Winston? Do you frown upon my judgment?" Draco asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Surely not, my lord. It is not my place to place judgment upon you or your decisions." His wooden voice didn't seem to convey his acquiesce on the matter.

"Well, enough chit-chat, Winston. Has Mother taken to her bed for the night?" his solemn voice cut through the silence of the study. Draco waited for his butler to reply in his customary monotonous voice but no startlingly no swift answer came forth. He turned, only to see lines of worry marring the old butler's face.

The cast of hesitation on Winston's face filled Draco's heart with dread.

"Winston, I do not like to repeat myself," he snarled.

"My Lord, the dowager duchess had had a slight altercation in her nightly routine. But-"

"What! Why did no one inform me? And what do you mean by altercation? What does this mean, Winston?" his anger thundered through the room, fuelled only by the spirits coursing in his blood.

"The dowager duchess had one of her … episodes. But nothing untoward happened, my lord," Winston hastened to add as if sensing the volatility of his master's mood regarding his mother.

"I don't care if anything transpired or not, Winston. If anything happens to Mother you are bloody _ordered_ to apprise me about it. Do you not understand?"

The old butler didn't even flinch, just bowed his head submissively.

"Yes, My lord. Pardon me for the transgression. I merely didn't want to disturb you and your new duchess on your celebratory dinner. Thomas, I and the new nurse were able to take care of her grace."

"Nothing outweighs my concern for my Mother, Winston. Nothing." His voice came out raspy as if something heavy was sitting on his chest. And Draco hated this, hated feeling weak and powerless. Before he could think he slammed the now empty tumbler on the table, chipping its base.

"Might I suggest something, My Lord?"

"I know you are going to say as is it. So do it fast, Winston. I have to visit Mother before I retire for the night."

"Yes about that. It would be solicitous if you paid the dowager duchess a visit in the usual time, in the morning. Her grace had already retired for the night and sleeping peacefully. It would be knotty to disturb her so."

Draco didn't appear to listen to Winston's word as his strong strides ate up the distance between his study and the west wing of the manor. Without paying the agitated man behind him any attention Draco was just about to knock lightly on his mother's room when the new nurse slipped out of it.

"You! Molly is it?" his chilled voice made the woman shy away.

"Um… My Lord… its Mary," she stuttered.

"Move aside, woman. I must pay Mother a visit."

To Draco's astonishment, the nurse didn't budge but rather started talking.

"My Lord, it would be better if you paid her a visit in the morning. I just gave a dose a laudanum for peaceful sleep." The audacious woman insisted, which only served to fuel his anger once again.

"Why! Don't you know, laudanum makes her irritable for the rest of the day?" he inquired, attempting to keep his voice level and calm. After all, she was the fifth nurse he had hired after firing the fourth one for gossiping instead of taking proper care of his mother. And moreover, he did not have enough patience or energy to acquire a new one.

"Oh, my Lord, the doses were all wrong. The physician had ordered a higher dose than required."

"And you know more than a qualified physician that had on more than one accounts attended to the Queen."

"I dare not, my Lord. But I have cared for a lot of women her age and always a lighter dose than the prescribed works like a charm."

"This is the second episode she had had in a month. Why is the frequency of her episodes increasing?" he asked restlessly.

"My Lord, there is no set time for these episodes. My experience tells that sometimes they occur more often than usual and sometimes there is a long stretch of gap till the next episode. There is nothing to be worried about," she replied in a low voice.

Draco felt the level of anxiety lessen on the encouraging words of the nurse. He liked that she didn't back down even when he was growling like a bear with a sore paw. The new nurse had come with so many references, especially Lady Greengrass's who being the only dear friend of his mother had an inkling of the gravity of the situation.

"Are you sure Mother is resting alright?" A sense of tiredness slithered back into his features, even in the faint light of nearby cone of light, it could be sure that the heavy bags under his eyes were as prominent as ever, and the worry lines caressing his forehead only seemed to deepen as his eyebrows relaxed.

"Yes, my Lord." She whispered.

With a sigh of resignation, Draco turned only to come across a somber looking Winston. "Oh, don't you look like that, Winston, I am still not happy with your lapse. Just inform me with utmost haste if this situation presents itself again," he rumbled.

The pain of scratching open the old wounds was something Draco knew intimately like one would know the contours of the body of an intimate lover. With each step, Draco took towards his room the old wounds once inflicted by dear old father started to bleed again. The years old scars in his back felt like they were being pulled apart … again. And it was nothing new for Draco, for this phantom pain wounded him every time his mother had one of those unfortunate episodes.

Draco remembered being five years old, sitting on his grandmother's lap and listening to the story of a starry-eyed Narcissa who had stolen the heart of the dashing Duke of Wiltshire. Like all kids his age, he had believed in love, love a father has for his mother. And all it had taken to break that colourful image was a bed-time story.

Draco could recall that night's incident like it had happened yesterday. He had sneaked from the clasps of the stern nanny who had fallen asleep to cajole his mother for one more bedtime story but all he had heard that night was his mother's chilling scream and his father's cruel laugh.

Was _this_ what love was supposed to be? And if that was the case then he was damn pleased that he had struck such a deal that left no leeway for love … or affection in it. Just a cut and dry business.

By the time he reached his chambers the previous excitement for the night had dwindled to such a point that all he wanted to do was be done with it. With hurried hands, he started pulling the buttons of his waistcoat from their fasteners when a pair of hands stalled him.

"Allow me, my lord," Thomas said.

"I am not a damn child, Thomas. I can undress myself, thank you very much," he spat angrily.

"My, my. I shall strive to inform you that this kind of mood will certainly not make you dear to the new duchess. Ladies need a softer hand and much kinder tone, my Lord. I thought you knew all about it, what with you being an acclaimed rake."

"Thomas! Vacate the chamber. Now." his stern left no room for query.

"Oh, dear. I suppose Winston had made you aware of the dowager duchess' health, hasn't he?"

"Yes. Now, will you vacate?"

With no more wise-arse remarks, Thomas vacated the room leaving him struggling with the stupid cravat. After a couple of times of futile efforts Draco just ripped the poor piece of silk. A couple of moments later the breeches were flung on the dresser with a part of torn silk peeking from beneath it.

Draco pulled on the emerald green nightgown before making his way towards the connecting door. For a moment he thought what if she had locked the door but lord knows why that made him breathe a little easier.

Draco entered the duchess' room to find it bathed in an array of scented candles. Every available surface was adorned with flowers. He had this sudden urge to sneeze. Even the bed had handfuls petals of rose-strewn all over it. The _empty_ bed. It looked as if it was mocking him, teasing him of his desire, scorning him that he was no better than his father.

He looked all around the room in search of his wife only to find her sitting on the wing backed chair facing the fireplace.

"Miss Grang- I, uh, should probably start calling you Lady Malfoy, isn't it?"

Neither did she reply nor did she turn to face him. Draco knew virgins were shy creatures and she must be afraid of what was about to come, so he walked towards her slowly.

"Miss Granger,-"

When she didn't even budge he raised his hand to touch her shoulder. His ignored the hesitation and shook her. With a thud, a thick book slid down from her lap as she rolled onto the side to reveal her slightly parted lips snoring softly.

"Oh Lord, great! She fell asleep." Draco patted her lightly to wake her up but all she did was brush his hand aside and find a more comfortable spot in the chair. With the way she was snoring Draco was sure there was no way she was going to wake up and the three glass of wine mustn't have helped at all.

Maybe this was for better. Maybe he didn't need to consummate this marriage. For all the society and even in the eyes of Lord he was already legally married to Miss Granger. And with his rakish reputation, he was sure no one would believe that he hadn't bedded his own wife. Besides the advocate only needed his marriage certificate to hand over his property, he didn't need to know what they did or didn't do behind closed doors. And for the matter of begetting an heir, he didn't need to do it now. Well, he certainly wasn't going to wake her up in her drunken stupor and force himself on her. As all the frustration and confusion over this warred inside him fired by the splash of whiskey, the option of not bedding her started feeling more and more right.

About venting this frustration eating him inside, he knew the perfect solution. He could always go and pay the lovely Miranda a call. In any case, it had been about a month since he had paid any of his mistresses a call.

With every step from the chamber his steps became heavier, he kept on repeating to himself that he had made no promises to her regarding fidelity. Absolutely nothing. And in this way, she wouldn't have to put up with him any more than that was necessary. She would probably be ecstatic about this. But something stopped his steps right in front of the door.

Draco turned back to see her sprawled uncomfortably on the chair and he winced imagining the creak her neck would have in the morning and the hammering headache trying to blind her eyes. He looked at the pristine petal sprinkled white bed and back at the snoring duchess. Without thinking further, he retraced his way back to her. Before he could pick her up and transfer her to the bed he stepped on something. He bent down to pick up the book and the title pulled a smile from his lips.

Trust this woman to be different. When all the society misses were giggling and fluttering over some sodding Mr. Darcy trust this woman to read something as absurd as about _hundred different fungi found in Scotland._

Still chuckling over it, he picked her up and frowned. For all her bluster and thunder she sure was light as a feather. When he put her on the bed all she did was sigh and hug the pillow closer. Lest the nasty voice of his conscience could wake and grumble he turned to leave the room but to only to come face to face with the devil itself.

"What in the God's name are you doing here? Didn't I banish you to the barns?" he whispered only to realize his wife was three sheets to the wind for the rest of the night and couldn't hear him even if he waltzed all around her.

The horrendous cat just flicked its eyes upon his enraged voice. With a delicate swish of its furry tail as if daring him to do something the cat lunged up onto the bed and settled itself cozily beside its mistress. Draco stopped himself from just threatening the _cat_ and left the room grumbling at his fate.

He pulled the bell-pull to order for a carriage to be brought, his own voice reverberated in his empty chamber as he kept saying to himself. _"I made her no promises."_

When he left the room in a flurry of hastily donned garb, he stumbled his way down the stairs to the foyer, where he pulled his coat tighter around himself and motioned for Winston to follow.

"Prepare a carriage for me," Draco ordered in a voice that broke no argument.

" _Now,_ my lord?" Winston asked in a slightly raised voice.

"No, for the next month, Winston. Of course, now," he said with irritation. He just needed to get out of that place, to do something mind-numbing, something that didn't make him questions his actions till now.

"As you wish. The ducal carriage shall be ready in a moment."

"Not that one. The other one."

Draco marked the slight indecision and perhaps a hint of judgment on Winston's face. No, it must be the light playing tricks on his mind, or maybe just his guilt-ridden principles. Before his oscillating mind would lean to a side that he absolutely didn't want he entered the carriage and left the manor.

 **.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'**

As the well-oiled wheels of the unremarkable ducal carriage barely made a sound to disturb the silent night, Winston sighed in defeat. He was too well of a butler to not know about his master's habit and he certainly knew the purpose of this mid-night call of the duke.

"Well, I didn't see this happening tonight. I was so sure the lad was excited, in his strange way, for his wedding night. Didn't knew that he was excited to spend it with his mistress. Who would leave that beautiful woman all alone that too on her wedding night for those money-grubbing vultures with painted faces," Thomas whispered in a sullen tone.

Winston had lent an ear to too many sessions of such ranting from the valet who had the tendency to blurt the first thing off one's mind, so this was nothing new to him.

"If the dowager duchess hadn't fallen ill-"

"Thomas, that is not something her grace could control. So I suggest you refrain from making such offhanded comments." Winston said in a steely tone.

"I meant no offense, Winston and you know it too. It's just that I thought the new duchess would be _the one,_ you know. The one to bring back the Duke from what the old duke did to the lad. To bring back the boy we all knew and loved. This girl is strong and has a hell of an opinion on everything. Both of them suit each other perfectly. Only if the duke was more open to the matters of the heart. Good lord, she even curtsied to good old me, never had anyone do that before." Thomas mused to himself.

"On this matter, I do agree. The new duchess will certainly be up to the mark for his grace."

"Oh yes, I for one know that the lad gets bored of people who just nod their head and do his behest. He needs someone in his life who could give as well as he dishes out."

"Well, you know what we have to do, Thomas, don't you?" Winston looked pointedly at Thomas.

"Of course, I do. The fact that I am more fashionable than you doesn't lessen my intelligence. We, of course, have to do whatever we can to make them fall in love now," Thomas said with elation brightening his face. "Come on, Winston, my dear boy lets shake on the deal, shall we?"

Winston ignored the raised hand of the gleeful valet with a keen stare and very nonchalantly made his way towards his room.

"Winston! Winston! Don't you know the rule? You can't seal a deal without shaking on it. Winston! I learned it from my stint with the pirates and you just can't ignore it. Winston!"

"Winston!"


	7. Chapter 7

_Before you come out with pitchforks and knives for not updating, let me just say that the last month had been a complete nightmare for me. They say misery never comes alone and in my case, it arrived with food poisoning then chicken pox and now the sodding flu. My nose is stuffed, I am sneezing so violently that I feel like my nose is gonna fall off, my face is peppered with spots that don't look like they are going to go away soon, and I can't even write a word properly to save my life. So, there it is._

 _Let me know how you all feel about this one. Love you all, and special love to my beta, Ray, she is amazing!_

* * *

"Don't lean too far, my lady, or, you will fall into the rosebushes. And I'm sure I need not remind you what occurred yesterday," Peggy said with trepidation as her hands moved instinctively to stitch a chain of daisies in the hem of her nightgown.

With a grimace from the reprimand, Hermione Malfoy, the eleventh duchess of the Wiltshire, pulled herself from the window from where she was leaning out precariously. She could clearly remember the debacle following the episode of her falling into the said rosebushes and the mortification that ensued after. An honest mistake. She had all but misjudged the distance from the path the bushes. It had never been her intention to nose dive into them.

Feeling suffocated from being cooped up in the same room she had thought of taking an invigorating stroll around the garden, but who knew three petticoats, a hoop skirt, and a feline on the healthier side with a complete disregard for her walking space would be so difficult to manage. And the next thing she knew she had taken a head-first dive into the dowager duchess's prized rosebushes, legs up in the air, skirts askew for the whole world to see her unmentionables and the poor bonnet crushed somewhere underneath her. Fortunately, Winston had been present there and like a godsend he had picked her up before the help could get an eyeful of their new duchess, a blush had stained her cheeks then as vigorously as it was now from just recalling the horror . So, yes that was yesterday. Hermione didn't even want to think about the valuable vase she had nearly knocked, or the poor unsuspecting footman she had stepped onto who in turn had fallen on two scullery maids, or the time she had knocked the wine glass painting the tablecloth red. It really wasn't her fault. It was a new place to learn to navigate, one with significantly more breakables and polished floors. And yet, it was, even the maids had begun to be wary around her.

She was never this clumsy before. Yes, sure she knocked into chairs and slipped on seemingly flat surfaces but never of this frequency and never causing as much damage as this.

Coming back to the present Hermione sighed and plopped herself on the bed as its softness swallowed her and realized something, she was bored, completely and utterly bored out of her mind. Back at home, she had hundred and one things to do before the sun went down. Every day a mountain of errands was waiting to be done before she could even sit down and enjoy a cup of tea, but here no one even allowed her to even raise her finger. Before she could even put forth a request the things were done. Truth to be told this much indolence was wrecking a havoc to her constitution. And she hadn't even completed a week of her new and which was slowly turning into a rather protracted married life.

Hermione turned to her side and eyed the books laying on the table and the one currently open with its pages waving lazily from the slight draft coming from the open window with a slight disgust as it described the plethora of fungi dotting the far and wide land of Scotland.

Don't get her wrong, Hermione loved books, loved the ways they opened up a whole new world for her to explore. She loved the crispness of pages under her fingers, their weight in her hands, and the memories they brought with them. She loved to read, right from Greek odysseys to poems by some tipsy Italian men adoring women; about arithmetics to science and its unbelievable vagaries. She even loved to read those grisly medical volumes from far off lands like China and India while waiting up for Mr. Snape, their village potioneer, to whip the potion for John's joint pains. But fungus, Hermione would like to draw a line at reading about fungus.

She could always go up to the cavernous library that the manor boasted and read up to her heart's content but like the coward she was, her feet and heart both had seized up when Winston had dutifully shown her the library during the perfunctory tour of the manor. As her eyes fell upon the rows and rows of books lined till the ceiling and as the familiar slightly musty smell of book hit her nose, her head dragged up other smells from her memories. The pungency of gunpowder, the metallic smell of freshly spilled blood, and burnt flesh. Embracing the weakling she was she had sputtered some nonsense about sewing and ran like her life depended on it, leaving a flabbergasted Winston in her wake and the funny thing was she didn't even sew.

She had later sent her lady's maid, Peggy to procure some books and the poor dear had returned with the one about fungi. Then next day it had been about cows and so on. The sweet girl who didn't know how to read had grabbed the ones whose cover had looked good to her and Hermione didn't have in her heart to say no to her earnest and ecstatic face. So until she taught Peggy her letters she would have to do with such books.

A slight scratch at the door made her sit up in attention. Peggy kept aside the dress she was sewing and opened the door for Winston to enter. With a bow that Hermione wasn't yet comfortable to accept the old man forwarded an ornate plate with a letter atop it.

The parchment was heavy and smooth in her hand, Hermione looked up to see Winston was waiting for an answer. With a slight comprehension, she opened the wax seal depicting an intricately designed 'M' and nestled inside the envelope was a letter with just two lines.

 _Esteemed Duchess of Wiltshire_

 _I would like to request upon your company during today's luncheon._

 _Do attire properly for the event and kindly send your agreement through Winston._

 _Draco Malfoy,_

 _Eleventh Duke of Wiltshire._

Now he wishes to have lunch with her!

Hermione had this sudden urge to chuck the darn letter through the windows into those appalling rosebushes. The last time she had seen the esteemed Duke was during the dinner on their first night. With a wince, she remembered how fear and apprehension regarding the first night had made her drink more than what she could handle. She wasn't sloshed, maybe perhaps a bit tipsy.

From what she had gathered from hushed whispers amidst giggles and coy looks was that men particularly don't care much about the women regarding the marriage bed. They take what was there's. She had prepared herself that the duke would do the deed and be done with it so that she wouldn't have to see him till her monthlies came. She had waited that night with an anxiousness that was completely foreign to her, but the wine and fatigue from the day had been too much for her, for she had fallen asleep. The next day she woke up in her bed with no idea how she came there to be, thinking perhaps she had made the switch from the chair to bed amidst the sluggishness of sleep during the night.

For some time the weight weighing her down had lightened as it dawned on her that the duke hadn't taken advantage of her tipsiness. And mayhap the one month in the manor wouldn't be as dire as she had imagined. She had waited with restlessness the next night, her eyes repeatedly going to the knob of the connecting door, waiting for a wiggle or a push. But nothing happened and nothing happened the next night and the one after that.

Hermione had always prided herself on being primed before undertaking a task. Accordingly she had made up her mind and strengthened her heart regarding the wedding night, a duty she would have to perform for the sake of her home. But as the days passed and no knock sounded on the door her resolve started to crumble. She hated feeling antsy and unprepared as if she was waiting perpetually for the other shoe to drop.

 _Was the duke playing some kind of game? Was he waiting till she fell into a false sense of security before he laughs at her face and proclaims the marriage to be a farce?_

Hermione was naïve but no that naïve to not know that no consummation means no marriage. And no marriage means no Rose Villa.

What was the duke playing at?

What was the meaning of asking her to join for lunch when she had seen neither a hair nor a hide of the duke in the past four days?

Well, she would know now anyway. And she would call upon all the courage she could muster and settle this stupid first-night business once and for all. At least then she could have a good night's sleep without keeping an ear open waiting for the duke's footsteps. Before she could answer a loud bang sounded from the foyer followed by a slightly lyrical and accented voice.

"Malfoy? Draco! Come out, come out wherever you are. You sneaky little arse-" and the rest of the words were cut off with the thud of a door closing.

With a gasp, Winston mumbled something under his breath, something that sounded much like _oh dear lord_ , to Hermione's ears.

"My lady, if you maybe kind to answer His Grace's letter then I shall be on my way to see the welfare of the visitor," Winston said hurriedly, his tone changing faintly at the term visitor.

"Yes, of course, Winston. I shall be honored to join His Grace," Hermione answered in a daze.

With a swift nod, the butler exited her room. Hermione turned to grill Peggy who in the devil's name was the visitor only to find her chamber completely empty, frowning she stepped out of her room only to find Peggy tilting perilously over the banister searching for someone.

"Don't lean too far, Peggy, or you will fall right in the middle of the foyer," Hermione said recalling Peggy's earlier remark. The said girl turned to look at her with a flush reddening her cheeks. "And from the redness of your cheeks and the precarious position on the banister, I assume you know of this visitor?" Hermione asked with a smile, it was endearing to watch the girl blushing.

"Oh, yes, My Lady, he is imaginably the most handsome man to grace the Queen's land," Peggy said in a dreamy voice.

Hermione simply raised her eyebrow in answer waiting for Peggy to continue.

"It is Mr. Zabini, one of the dearest friend of His Grace, apart from Lord Nott. He must have returned from his journey from Italy," Peggy said with a sigh, clasping her hands to her chest.

"If I am not wrong to assume, Winston isn't too fond of this Mr. Zabini?" Hermione asked, certainly intrigued by the strange utterances of Peggy who seemed to be fanning herself.

"Oh, think nothing of it, my lady. It's just that Mr. Zabini is a terrible flirt and he pays us maids a compliment or two from time to time. Even the stern housekeeper is a putty in front of him, she serves him extra dessert whenever he stays for dinner." She said it slightly too quickly to assume that she, herself was not alone in harbouring this strange little obsession for the womaniser downstairs.

Hermione snorted to herself, of course, the duke's dear friend was a reprobate, the birds of a feather flock together and all that.

"Dear Lord! Now that Mr. Zabini is here you, my lady should look extra special for your luncheon. Come along, we have no to time to tarry. The forest green gown with the beige slippers shall shine on you, my lady. And I should try one of those intricate hairdos the ladies are sporting nowadays," Peggy murmured to herself. And with that in a whirlwind of layers of skirts and excitement, Peggy ushered Hermione inside her chamber and started rifling through her meager wardrobe for the dress that was supposed to make her shine.

Hermione sat in front of the gilded mirror allowing Peggy's capable hands to do the magic and exhaled in relief as the darn book about fungi lay all but forgotten on the table with its pages still fluttering from the occasional draft stealing in through the open window.

 ** _.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'_**

"Malfoy? Draco! Come out, come out wherever you are. You sneaky little arsehole!"

Draco Malfoy scowled as the too familiar voice of his other best friend filtered through the solid door of his study. He embraced the last threads of peace before his hurricane of a friend could barge in and wreak havoc to his sanity. And as he had known, with a resounding crash the door flew open and Blaise Zabini in all his tanned glory swaggered in as if he owned the whole damn place. With a smirk that could rival his, Blaise sprawled without a care on the chair in front of him.

"What? No 'how are you' for the dear old friend?" Draco drawled slowly.

Blaise smirked and replied. "Oh, you are one to talk, Blondie! There I was soaking up the sun, drinking fine wine, and playing up the ladies in good old Italy. Only to be rudely interrupted and informed that Draco Bloody Malfoy seemed to be married. And not only that, I heard it from no other than Lady Parkinson herself who also thinks that I am the pinnacle of rippling manhood, not that I mind. Isn't that a rather rude thing to do to your closest friend. Not even a word, leave alone a wedding invitation.

Mate, I knew Theo was a gone case what with being betrothed and all that malarkey but I thought that at least you would be one to give me company in our devoted journey of drunken debauchery and squandering.

So, what happened? Did someone catch you with your hands up some debutante's skirt? I told you to diddle with them with caution. One moment these misses are screaming your name in ecstasy behinfld the fountain and the next moment their fathers are standing with a gun pointed at your head sputtering indignantly to match a duel. Or did you beget some poor gentry' woman with the next Malfoy spawn?" Blaise ranted breathlessly.

"Oh please, Blaise, you know me better than that. Nothing of that sort happened, it's even more hopeless than that," Draco said with a trace of bitterness lacing his tone. Feeling that he would need something stronger than the now cooling tea to rehash the whole incident, Draco stood and grabbed the whiskey. Ignoring the Blaise's raised eyebrow he poured a generous amount in two tumbles. "Drink up, Blaise. You are going to need it by the time I am through with you."

Before he could take a much-needed sip a slight knock interrupted him. He knew it was Winston from the knock and then he remembered that he was waiting for _her_ answer, not that he left any choice for her anyway.

"Enter, Winston."

"My Lord, Mr. Zabini," and with that Winston bowed respectfully and well, a little less respectfully to Blaise. For some reason, Winston hasn't been too keen on Blaise from the start of their unusual friendship and Draco had disregarded that owing it to the harmless flirtation Blaise sometimes indulged in with the help. Some years ago this man had saved him from making a disastrous business deal with a shady character. Draco obviously didn't know the dealer's background that well and the timely intervention from Blaise had prevented him from a great loss. And thus a friendship was forged and later Theo had joined too making it a trio.

Winston sniffed as he eyed the tumbler full whiskey on his table and said in a dull voice, "Her Grace had replied that she would be honored to join you for luncheon today. And I don't assume, His Grace and his visitor would like anything for refreshment."

"Oh, perk up, dear Winston, I see you still aren't too fond of me are you?" Blaise drawled.

"Pardon me, Mr. Zabini but I don't suppose my considerations are of any importance in this regard," Winston said.

"Winston, Winston, Winston! I don't know what I did to procure your hatred, it's keeping me awake at lonely nights and breaking my poor old heart. Is it because I am not a fruit from the loins of the respectable gentry. Come on, we can't all be Dukes and Lords, can we. Someone has to play the role of the common gentleman. Now do me a favour and set an extra place in that ginormous dining table of yours. I shall dine here today in the dazzling presence of your new duchess," Blaise said with an easy booming laugh.

Draco tired of the to and fro parrying in between his best friend and butler, for god's sake replied, "Okay, that's enough for today. Both of you. And Winston we will be present there in time," with that Draco nodded for Winston to leave them alone. "What is it with you and Winston, and would you stop joshing around with him," Draco chided.

"But it's so much fun, Draco dear," Blaise replied gaily. "Now tell me everything that happened to drag your feet to the altar."

Another round of whiskey, some of the choicest swear words that would have forced the priest to cross himself and take the name of the lord, and one hour later, both the friends lay spread-eagled on the settee.

"What a bastard!" Blaise grumbled.

"Yes that he is."

"So you really married this harpy you had just met once? And" Blaise questioned.

"She is not a harpy," Draco replied a little too fast, then calming his expression he carried on blandly. "It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. I get what I want and so does she. And moreover, I did not have enough time to jump through the hoops that normally curtail a blue-blooded marriage."

"So, how is she in the bed? Most often these society misses are too stuffy to even bring you any kind of pleasure but what with her being from the countryside, they are supposed to be more … earthy. Aren't they?" Blaise said with a devious wiggle of his eyes.

"Do not talk in such fashion, it's unbecoming-" Draco sputtered.

"Oh, the pox on your delicate English sensibilities, you sod. I specifically remember you doing the dirty with more than one woman and that too at the same time on the same bed. So get off your high horse, will you?" Blaise added jovially.

"Well … that's different. I haven't yet-"

"My lord, are you implying that you still haven't done the consummation, have you?"

"Will you let me get me in a word otherwise?" Draco said irritably as Blaise rolled his eyes and gestured him to continue. "No, I haven't done the _consummation_ as of yet. But does it matter? For the rest of the world, we are married as one can be and moreover it's not like I am interested in her anyway."

Blaise scoffed. "We are men, Draco, we are always interested. Well, I will still say you got the better end of the deal, mate. Besides, your inheritance is secure now."

Draco snorted. "Far from it. I already sent three missives stating the completion of my marriage but I am yet to receive any kind of acknowledgment from my father's solicitors."

"Did you make your marriage announcement in the newspaper?" Blaise asked pointedly.

"Well, no. I didn't want a bunch of people that I don't care about, calling upon me congratulating or some drivel like that," Draco replied.

"Did you take your dear duchess out, to plays, or musical, or even a ball?"Blaise said, a smirk gracing his lips.

"I … uh ... No. I just didn't have the time."

"Draco, my mate, you need to be seen around. These solicitors are snarky old devils they just won't take your word for it. A marriage certificate can be bribed or faked with the help of a pretty penny. What they need is public proof. Damn, I only came to know because Lady Pansy is a horrid gossip and even she wasn't that sure about the rumour.

Take your duchess out shopping in the Park Street, twirl her around in the next Parkinson Ball, and make a bloody statement or something."

Draco nodded absent minded. "Yes, I should probably do that."

Draco turned to look at Blaise and didn't know what to make of the peculiar looks that he kept throwing at him. With an odd smile playing on his lips, Blaise stood and pulled Draco up. "Come on, it's time to meet this not-a-harpy of a woman that you have married."

They talked business the rest of the way to the dining hall only to find it empty. Draco turned towards the rows of windows facing the rows and rows of flowers in full bloom, swaying almost lazily in the slight wind. His attention was pulled when Blaise let out a small appreciative whistle.

"Oh, now I know why you couldn't wait to get married," Blaise said cheekily.

Draco turned back in a flash.

Hermione stood elegantly draped in a green gown with pale slippers peeking from under the hem, smiling courteously at Winston. When usually her hair was pulled back with a ribbon but not today. Today half of it was artfully piled on top of her head and the rest burst around her in soft ringlets. A couple of fat curls had escaped their confinement and bounced around her cheeks. Draco frowned thinking that she looked a bit different today from all the other times he had looked at her from afar. It took him a minute but it dawned on him that the gown hugged her figure a little too faithfully. Before he could say anything, Blaise elbowed him in the stomach.

''Draco close your mouth and do introduce me with the vision standing in front of me," Blaise said the last half loud enough to garner her attention.

With a deep curtsy directed at him, she waited patiently for him to do the introductions, as was the norm of elite society.

"Lady Malfoy, this rouge here is a very dear friend of mine, Mr. Blaise Zabini and Blaise, I present to you the eleventh duchess of Wiltshire, Lady Hermione Malfoy."

Draco watched as Blaise took Hermione's gloved in his and place a fleeting kiss before bowing gracefully. Hermione returned the bow with a curtsy that would have even made the queen proud but nonetheless Draco sidled nearer to her afraid she would knock the vase placed beside her elbow. Oh yes, just because he hadn't seen her face to face other than the first night doesn't mean he didn't know all about the shenanigans she had unleashed upon the manor. He knew the dive in the bushes and the trampling of the poor footmen and of course the vase. After all, he was the lord of the manor he knew about all the going-ins, or, who he was jesting, it was bloody Thomas who took great pain upon himself in recounting the duchess' day every night before turning in.

"I don't think Draco did a justification in describing your beauty, my lady. And shall I be daring enough to compliment that you look a revelation in that gown." Draco scowled as he heard Blaise's tone deepening and his words getting more accented, a trick he usually played when he was trying to sweet talk someone.

"Your reputation preceding you certainly does you justice, Mr. Zabini. You, sir, are a trifler. I shouldn't put much stock into the revelation thing but I shall receive your compliment with utmost thanks," Hermione said with a soft smile as a blush spread across her cheeks.

Draco's eyes widened as he took in the woman smiling serenely at Blaise and who for a better word was looking gobsmacked. Before he could caution her to how to talk in a proper way, Blaise burst out in a belly-full laugh.

 _"Io non credo che il mio cuore potrebbe prendere queste dure parole, mia signora_ ," Blaise said in a mock-hurt tone.

Draco tamped down the urge to roll his eyes at the Italian, Blaise was spouting off. This was Blaise's modus operandi whenever he was trying to flirt. And often the poor girl unknown to the language would titter prettily. Hell, apart from the occasional word here and there Draco even didn't know Italian, it had been French that had grabbed his attention. Blaise had once joked that he had recited the name of fruits in Italian and the fool woman had all but melted at his feet. Before he could open his mouth and prevent Hermione from embarrassing herself further, to his astonishment she replied in a perfectly fluent and accented Italian.

 _"Oh, io sono sicuro che il tuo cuore libertino può prendere qualche colpi , Signor Zabini, o no possono?_ " she smirked.

Now laughing in earnest Blaise turned to Draco and he noted that Blaise was genuinely smiling and not one of those duplicitous ones that he threw around willy-nilly. Lord, even Blaise had fallen under her spell.

"How sodding lucky are you, Draco Malfoy, you without a trial managed to grab one of the good ones out there." Blaise then turned back to Hermione and smiled softly. "You, my lady, are as feisty as they come. And I am absolutely honored to make your gracious acquaintance."

"So am I, good sir," Hermione replied with a smile.

And before Draco could fathom what in the name of lord had happened in the past few minutes, Blaise winged his elbow and just like that she placed her hand lightly on his as he ushered her towards the dining table.

"Have you ever visited la mia bella Italia, my lady?"

"No, I haven't. But I have read about it many a book. I hope I will be able to see it once in my lifetime."

"Then I implore that Draco bring you to Italy for a visit and I shall show you around my beautiful city-"

Not to feel like a fool that has been left behind he growled softly and followed them, glaring furtively at them as they became so engrossed in conversation that they switched to Italian and he could no longer understand a damn word of it.

It would suffice to say that it was one of the most tasteless lunches Draco had ever had.

* * *

Sorry, I should have included the translation earlier. I am not sure about these translation but this is what Google translate said anyway.

 _"Io non credo che il mio cuore potrebbe prendere queste dure parole, mia signora-_ _"I do not think my heart could take these harsh words, my lady._

 _"Oh, io sono sicuro che il tuo cuore libertino può prendere qualche colpi , Signor Zabini, o no possono?_ " - Oh, I am sure your rakish heart can take few more blows, Mr. Zabini, or can't they?


	8. Chapter 8

_I am so sorry I made you lovely people wait so much. But anyway my finals are done and completely (yep, totally) out of the alcohol-induced haze, that I might been in for the last week or so. Thanks a bunch to Ray for beta-ing this chapter, you rock girl._

 _I am so glad to be back. And look at that, 500 followers… yippee … So a little recap cuz I am sure most of you have forgotten the story._

 _It all starts with Draco getting screwed over by his daddy dearest and the philandering son of a bitch that Draco was the deal was to get married by next birthday (which was like in a month or so) or else the property goes to someone else. So he is drunk and bitching in front of Theo when *cue drumroll* enters Hermione granger, all muddy (I meant it literally, it was raining) and drenched. And incidentally, Hermione too had got screwed over by Papa. Draco being the cunning Slytherin that he is he grabs the opportunity in his grubby pale hands and says that if they get married, only then he will pardon her father's debt and not confiscate her home. Then blah, blah, blah … a lot of things happened, Hermione has no choice but to agree. And after a couple of meetings filled with disappointments, attacking cats and cracked eggs, they got married… Yayyyy…. Draco (that arse!)_ _ditches Hermione on the_ bang-bang _night and goes off being all confused and shit, the_ butler _, and the valet make nefarious plan to bring them together, Hermione trips a lot on flat surfaces and rose bushes and reads books about fungus…_ yadda _,_ yadda _,_ yadda _… the end. Oh, I forgot, Blaise-dreamy_ McDreamy _\- Zabini is also here and is bowled over by the_ Italian-speaking _duchess (and Draco may or may not have been a tad bit jealous about it)._

 _Well, that's about it (or as much as I can remember). In this_ chapter _, I introduce you to the second pair. So carry on my wayward sons and don't forget to REVIEW!_

* * *

Her pale slender fingers felt foreign against the blood red hue of the fabric, for she had never worn anything of such outrageous color. Being the perfect pale English beauty with her pale blue eyes and pale blond hair her mother had dressed her always in lackluster soft pastel shades. The colors suitable for the genteel lady of the society, but all she felt was washed out like someone had sucked all the hues out of her. Her ginormous wardrobe was as colorless as she was herself.

Her fingers itched to drag the satin red gown from its hanger and drape it lovingly across herself, finally splashing the color that she so wished to wear. She could imagine it now, twirling in some dimly lit ballroom to some soundless music in the arms of some faceless man. She could imagine the gasps filling the room, the whispers of those annoying busybodies valiantly trying to hide themselves behind potted ferns and failing obviously, and of course the smelling salts that she would need in order to revive her unconscious mother if she ever dared to wear such a color.

"You can't wear that color, Daph! Mother would have palpitations if she saw you eyeing that. You know those are for harpies and scarlet women."

Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes at her younger sister's very loud whisper as she realized she was still playing with the red fabric, she had the urge to snatch her hand away, as if the red fabric had become alive and vibrant with her musings.

She pondered, who actually has the authority in assigning these colors in the first place. Does the Queen hold a special court where pompous patriarchs of the society with bulging bellies and no sense of fashion whatsoever would sit around smoking their repugnant pipes and drinking their bitter whiskeys and deciding that white is for untouched debutantes, brown for shy wallflowers and red for scarlet women? Do they sit around every year updating colors to this category and that? Who gave them the right? Who died and made them the king?

Saddened that unmarried ladies were barred from so many scrumptious things life had to offer, like wearing scandalous colours, riding a horse at breakneck speed across the Hyde Park just as the sun breaks out of its slumber, talking loudly, or lord forbid, being articulate enough to hold a conversation that hinted you had half a brain, and so on the sodding list goes on.

"Of course not, Astoria," Daphne replied in an off-handed tone.

There was no point of having such deep discussions with someone as otiose and superficial as Astoria. Because for Astoria, deep pockets and long titles meant everything.

But Daphne, she was an oddity in the house of Greengrass, she craved for adventure. She wanted to explore the world, go on an exotic voyage on a ship, and learn something that's useful because for the love of god she has no idea how learning pianoforte and watercolor would come in handy. She wanted to try new delicacies- even if she found that she hated it. She wanted to wade into the Hyde Park's lake and catch a duck in the middle of the day. She wanted to do so many things … so many things like the heroines did in the stories she wrote in the dead of the night.

When the world slept in a deep slumber, in the flickering light of the candle that her maid had sneaked in, she would write. Her hand would fly across the pages weaving words and scenes about sassy heroines fighting their way through life. She might be a ninny in her real life bound my society and an overbearing mother- but on paper she was fearless. On paper, she had the ability to transform. Like a phoenix rising from ashes she had the ability to live and be happy with the life she was concocting. She didn't have to live the way others had dictated to her, as the rules simply didn't exist in the pages that bore her writings. There were no whimpering misses singing and sewing and waiting for their fair princes' to come and rescue them in her stories. No, they bloody well rescued themselves and also sadly they were hidden under the loose floorboard beneath her bed.

When she was younger, Daphne had mistakenly shown her mother one of the first stories she had written. She was desperate for her mother to finally be proud of the daughter that she had, seeing her as more than just a piece in the grand scheme of things. But with each sentence, her mother had turned redder and redder.

"Who in the Lord's name taught you all this drivel? Ladies of a good lineage don't ride astride on horses or don't go on to become pi-pirates. Nor do they talk in such rotten manner." her mother had shouted. "Ladies should be docile and do whatever they are told to do. Who is filling you such nonsense?"

Daphne had stood in shock as her mother had burnt all her diaries full of stories of brave women; stories that she wrote: stories that were hers, in the fireplace right in front of her eyes. With a final poke in the fire as her stories curled up and died, her mother had sniffed at her and ordered her to cease writing such claptrap.

Well, it didn't stop her from writing, just made her good at hiding them.

"Daph, stop wool-gathering and see if this gown looks good on me or not." Astoria's whining voice snapped Daphne out of her funk. With an irritated huff, she ignored Astoria who had started ordering everyone around the shop and plunked herself on the nearby divan. There was no point of giving her opinion to Astoria when all she was going to do was sniff and roll her eyes at them.

The wide clear windows provided her with the same old view of the slightly busy square. She pressed her nose to the glass. Well, dear mother wasn't there to admonish so she could very well press her nose if she wanted to.

There were the same old pristine roads with the evenly spaced trees and the same old occasional gentleman tipping his hat at some simpering miss. The staleness of the sight was so maddening that peeved by it Daphne scoped the whole shop for something different.

Ah, there it was!

A small door hidden behind a heap of fabrics tucked up in a small room that must have doubled up as storage and which the shop-owner had so clearly tried to hide. A small sliver was visible through it and it felt somewhat exciting. With a glee of someone who had unearthed the treasure, Daphne strode towards it. She pushed open the door and there it was, the nasty but exhilarating underbelly of London Town in all its glory.

London was the only place where the two extremes can live with the one not knowing the other. The front of the shop boasted what the scion of society stood for while the back was a gateway to the real world, a world where thrilling things happened.

She stepped out into the narrow lane and a myriad of sounds and odor slapped her across her face. And how she loved it.

She could see the shopkeeper shouting his wares and stuffing his things at the ongoing crowd; a bunch of raggedly dressed children running after what looked like a ducal carriage; a couple of girls' whispering and then bursting into peals of laughter and from the blush marring their faces, it must have been a man.

A haggard mother desperately trying to distribute the bread equally among her noisy brood. And if the sight wasn't enough to blind her senses there was the smell. The smell of pungent fish mixing with the sweetness of the freshly baked bread. And just like that, a story started weaving around in her mind. A story about a young orphan who fought her way through all this and emerged on the other side…

She often used her experiences here to make the scenes that would appear in her stories, there was nothing more fascinating than the hustle and bustle of everyday life that could and would unfold if you waited long enough.

"My Lady! What are you doing here? This is not safe for you, please accompany me inside," the shop-owner, a thin petite woman with the name Fleur and a strong French accent ushered her inside before she could say anything.

"Madame, do not wander about in that part, your mother would be very cross with me if she knew," Fleur said. Seeing the worry on her face Daphne smiled and replied. "Of course. It won't happen again, after all, I cannot lose my way twice in the same place can I."

"Madame! The Duke of Wiltshire has arrived and requested your presence," a girl, perhaps a seamstress said with excitement to Madame Fleur, who with a flutter of her hand-fan and a hastily thrown curtsy towards Daphne rushed to the front.

 _The duke of Wiltshire…_

Her nosiness dragged Daphne towards the front too and if by some chance she wasn't visible because of a heap of fabrics in front, it wasn't her fault. The duke was standing stiff as if he was entering the women's establishment for the first time but Daphne knew that he had visited this place more than a dozen of times procuring gowns for his many mistresses. But this was different, Daphne couldn't put her finger on it but something had changed.

A petite but absolutely beautiful woman emerged from his shadow. She stood a little bit unsure, her fingers twisting upon themselves. Her rich brunette hair with strands of gold and so may hues of reds and browns that Daphne even couldn't count were looped together in an intricate mass of curls and turns. Her red lips were pursed in a way as if she was bursting to say something but was barely holding herself. Daphne couldn't make out her eye color but she could make a calculated risk that they must have been a beautiful amber color. The woman who was a complete opposite to the Duke was dressed in a simple well-made but a really outdated gown.

 _Were the rumors spread by that stupid Pansy true? Has the elusive Duke really married?_

And before she could make her presence known, her idiot of a sister emerged from somewhere and held on to the Duke's hand like a limpet to the side of a ship. She had always wondered if Astoria had a super sense that alerted her when a rich titled man was in her vicinity. The right thing would have been to go and introduce themselves but Astoria was already embarrassing herself and with the dearth of amusement in Daphne's life she wasn't going to lose this chance.

Daphne rolled her eyes as Astoria all but fell upon herself hanging onto the Duke and laughing in that absurd way that sounded like a swine in pain but Astoria was sure that it titillated men, so who was she to deny the little pockets of joy in her sister's life.

"My Lord, how nice of you to see you on such a fine day. It was so unfortunate that you couldn't attend the last ball, I waited so dearly for you," Astoria simpered, curling a lock of hair around a slender finger, one thing Daphne was sure on was that her sister was an entirely different breed to herself. She would rather shoot herself in the foot then do that.

Daphne all but stuffed her mouth with her fist to stop herself from laughing as Astoria continued to make a fool of herself while ignoring the woman standing beside the duke.

Months back the duke had courted Astoria to their mother's delight but something had happened and then one day the flowers and the morning calls from the duke had stopped. When asked, Astoria had kept mum about it. Daphne was sure that it must have been to do something with Astoria's behavior.

Daphne looked at the mysterious woman who by now was standing ramrod straight with her head held regally. Oh, jolly! It seemed she didn't like to be ignored.

 _This was going to be entertaining._

The duke extracted his hand from Astoria's grasp and with a barely there bow, that would have been considered as an insult, he turned to the woman beside him and laid her hand in the curve of his elbow.

"Lady Greengrass, it's with great pleasure that I present you the esteemed duchess of Wiltshire, Lady Hermione Gra- Malfoy," the duke said in a stiff voice, his large hand had curled protectively around his duchess' small one.

"No! That can't possibly be true. What- why. Oh my god … when? You can't do that-"

"Lady Greengrass, I suppose the words that you so valiantly are trying to find are 'wish you a happy and blessed married life'," the duchess said with a perfect sniff, she had a strange sort of dialect, Daphne figured, almost too crisp and perfect but she could still make out the difference that was generally heard in the country people.

 _And Lord above, did she have claws_!

Gone was the unsure woman and in her place stood a poised duchess.

Taking pity on her little sister, Daphne emerged from behind the clothes rack.

"My Lord, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I almost didn't see you," Daphne said with grace.

"Of course, you didn't. Lady Daphne. After all, it must be very difficult to see from behind that towering heap of clothes," the duke said with a smile that made Daphne suspect that the Duke had been aware of her snooping.

With a smile that conveyed that she wasn't a bit sorry for that, she turned to look at her sister. "Astoria, Mother would be so displeased at your behavior. Now please go and terrify some poor seamstress elsewhere and leave the duke and his duchess alone," Daphne said. Seeing that she was gearing up for more confrontation, Daphne added in an undertone, "You do not want Mother to know about this. Go before you embarrass yourself further."

With a sneer, Astoria stomped out.

Daphne turned and with an apologetic smile addressed the duke, for proper introduction were till yet not done and addressing the duchess would have been improper. "My Lord, pardon my sister's behavior. Now, do introduce me with the mysterious duchess of Wiltshire." And with that Daphne dropped into a respectful curtsy.

Appropriate introductions were made, hands were air-kissed and curtsies and bows were done. And Daphne realized that she liked the new duchess, well, she didn't know _her_ well enough to make a judgment but then she was different and interesting and new, different than the staleness her life provided. There was a strength in _her_ eyes that said that she was not from the frivolous and elite society. An awkward silence had descended by then. The Duke was shuffling from feet to feet and the Duchess was staring all around as if waiting for the fabrics to pounce upon her. It was clear as a rare sunny sky that the duchess needed help and the Duke was way above his head in the sea of colors and silk and satin to say anything. Feeling a tad magnanimous Daphne decided to save them from their obvious discomfort. _What is with people and asking for help?_

"My Lord, I assume this excursion was made keeping in mind the Parkinson annual ball?" Daphne asked even though she knew the answer.

"Yes, Yes of course," the Duke grabbed onto it like a lifeline. "We are here for a .. hmm..."

"An attire I suppose? Well, you certainly have come to the right place. My mother sings the praise of this particular establishment. I assure you the Duchess is in very capable hands." Daphne said innocently.

"My Lady, will it be too forward of me to ask for your help in choosing a fine gown for myself, for I have been staring at these colors for so long that they have all cluttered in my brain. A fresh pair of eyes would be so very welcome."

"Well, to be frank, I myself have the least knowledge regarding fashion. I am not sure I would be of any help to you," the duchess replied in a soft apologetic voice.

"Oh, what utter nonsense, my lady. I am sure we both shall muddle through these treacherous paths of gowns and girdles together. Now that it's been decided, My Lord, a man as yourself has no more work here, kindly fetch your Duchess in a couple of hours, will you."

"Still bossy I see, Lady Greengrass," Draco said in a light voice.

Lord Malfoy pulled his wife to a distance. Daphne strained as much as she could but could hear nothing without getting noticeable. Well, whatever he said made the duchess a bit comfortable for the stiffness of her stance lessened and she smiled, well, sort of. It was uncomfortable between them, but Daphne didn't say anything about it. It was most likely one of those things that were better kept behind closed doors.

Now that the Duke was gone, the duchess turned and with an impassive face said. "Pardon me, but being a Lady of the elite such as yourself I somehow doubt that you need help in choosing a dress, Lady Greengrass. Thank you nevertheless for extending your kind help but I will find my way alright."

That stumped Daphne for a six but then she remembered Astoria.

With a slight roll of eye Daphne replied. "Dear lord, I am in no way like my sister, Lady Malfoy. I could have stayed hidden behind that stack of fabric and enjoyed this fiasco but I didn't, did I? And it would be erroneous of you to pass judgment even before you knew me."

Both the woman stared at each other. The duchess was the first to break the silence, "Why in the hell would you hide behind that, you were completely visible the whole time." Lady Malfoy said with a smile.

Daphne could feel a smile stretching on her lips. "I know, right! In the imperativeness to listen, that's all I could find. Next time we shall find a better place to eavesdrop. So what say, my lady, will you befriend the daughter of just a viscount?"

"Seeing that I am the daughter of just a country squire, it would be an honor to call you my friend, lady Greengrass. And please do call me Hermione, it's been days someone called my name," the duchess said, laughter lighting her eyes.

"Alright, Hermione. Then I implore you to return the favor and call me Daphne."

 _Two hours later…_

"Daphne! I don't think this is the one."

Daphne could hear the muffled voice of Lady Hermione coming from the changing room. She hadn't thought the task would be so difficult. But with the duchess's petite figure and brown hair, most of the pale colors looked voluminous and for the lack of better word just dreadful.

"Come on out. This is the sixth dress you have tried on, something ought to fit," Daphne said.

When Hermione stepped out Daphne had to stop herself from yelping out. "Oh … dear … Lord…"

"You can say it looks horrible, I won't mind," Hermione said.

The dress was a monstrosity. While the current fashion was all about hoops and puffy sleeves, it looked awful on her. Her petite figure had been completely swallowed by the huge hoops skirts and the sleeves. The light pink of the gown just made her look as if she was swimming in a sea of candy floss. She needed something that would accentuate her body and bring a flush to her skin.

Daphne turned and looked at Madame Fleur. "Don't you have something with a slender skirt …?"

Madame Fleur took her sweet time before replying. "I have a dress, it's all the rage among ladies in the French but here the English ladies do not like that."

Daphne looked at Hermione, "So what do you say, are you ready to try something different Lady Hermione?"

"It feels like that's what I have been doing all this time. Let's do it," Hermione said.

And when Hermione gave a twirl in front of Daphne in the new dress, Daphne smiled because it was perfect. Well, except for the color. The sea green of the dress though looked absolutely stunning on the duchess but it was missing something. And Daphne knew just what it needed. After a trip to the back of the shop, Daphne returned with a fabric in hand.

"Could you prepare the dress in this _color,_ please?"


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hey Guys, sorry for being a stupid asshole. But the block this time hit a little too hard. Well, that's what you get when you don't plan out ahead. I wrote myself into a corner and I am trying to move further. A big fat thank you for still loving this**_ **story**. _**And I hope I finish this.**_ _ **I should stop yapping by now. Yeah. Go ahead and happy reading.**_

* * *

The acrid smoke hung heavy in front of him like a veil. He stared at the red tip of the cigar in his hand winking at him in the dimmed interior before he took a long drag. The tip flared a bit brighter before calming, and he let out the smoke in a lazy gust.

Theodore Nott hated cigars. He hated the residual smell of the smoke that never seems to leave his clothes. He hated the feel when the pungent acrid smoke filled his lungs. The only thing he liked about it was the time when he let go. He would stare at the spirals of smoke coming out of his mouth, sometimes in rings and sometimes as it is. He would stare at it as it would rise up and form varied macabre shapes or sometimes just rise up and up till it disappeared into nothing.

And that was the reason why he smoked.

Theodore tapped the cigar on the ashtray letting the ashes fall into a heap as his hand stroked across the end of the paper leaving behind an elegant signature. The lighting in the gentleman's club was poor as it had been since the very first day Theo had entered it but he had no problem in reading each and every word written in the document.

Hogshead, the premiere gentleman's club was notorious for never having allowed any member of the fairer sex to put a foot on its threshold and whose membership was so exclusive that only a selected few got into it every year. But Theo never had to toil for it, being the heir of the House of Nott his entry was as sure as an aristocrat was to father a bastard. At sixteen he had been wildly excited to be a part of the club but like every mirage, he had soon understood that this place was nothing special. It was just a place to carry out tiresome business deals and bitch about their respective mistresses or wives or sometimes about both.

"I hope we will have a prosperous business ahead, Lord Wetherby," Theo drawled.

Lord Wetherby was an imprudent young fool. It would be foolish to enter into business with him but Theo wasn't called a damn good businessman just for a lark. He had protected his assets in case the deal went belly up. And moreover, Lady Wetherby sucked cock like no other so he wasn't complaining. The stupid man was all but bursting at the seams with excitement for having acquired the business deal.

 _Poor sod!_

Hey, he never said he was a saint.

Now that Lord Wetherby had left on his merry way he had nothing to do till Draco arrived, ordering for his drink to be refreshed he stared at the roaring fire, hissing and spitting in the fireplace. Next thing he knows a booming laugh reverberated through the room.

 _Oh, lord! He knew that laugh._

And before Theo could run or hide or at least duck under the table a meaty hand patted or more like thumped his shoulder.

"A very good morning, my dear lad. What are you doing on this beautiful sunny morning cooped up in here? Shouldn't you be out soaking up the sun or perhaps taking a lucky lady for a stroll in the park?"

Theo cringed at the loud voice of his former professor. Lord Horace Slughorn also popularly known as Old Sluggy by his students was an enormously portly, balding old man. His short stature along with his bulging belly that threatened the buttons to burst off, made him look more like a barrel than a person. He had an enormous walrus-like mustache that from the looks of it still bore the evidence of the morning breakfast.

Back at school, the students disliked him because he favored the company of the famous and powerful or more likely the students with highly aristocratic lineage. He ran a very lucrative Slug Club that had only the children of rich and prominent people as members. From the beginning, Theo and Draco had been a part of that club. Theo wasn't sure whether he liked him or not but joining his little club was something every child of a noble family did, so he did too.

To Theo, Professor Slughorn had always seemed a vain and pompous man but he was pleasant or rather too pleasant, in his own way. What Theo hated about him was the way old Sluggy drew attention to him. Like now, in his obscenely red waistcoat and that booming voice, they were the center of attraction of the whole room. Theo eyed as some of his schoolmates slinked away from that area lest they are attacked too.

"Good Morning, Professor. Hope you are having a wonderful day. I was just concluding some business in here," Theo replied cordially.

Slughorn slapped him again on the shoulder and laughed gaily before making himself comfortable in the next chair. Seeing that he wasn't going anywhere in the near future Theo accepted his fate and sat down heavily.

"Hah! So much like your dear father. Always busy with work and responsibilities. May his soul rest in peace," Slughorn said in a still loud voice.

Theo had this sudden urge to laugh.

 _So much like his father._

If that wasn't the most absurd statement then, Theo didn't know what was.

For Theodore Nott Senior his son Theo had always been invisible.

Theo would stand there with a paper crumpled in his hands where he had gotten all his alphabets correct waiting, just waiting for his father to look at him, maybe smile or at least an acknowledgment of his presence. But that never happened.

"Father. Father, look I got all my alphabets correct. Father? Father?" his small voice would call tentatively. But the Duke never looked at him. Sometimes the butler would whisk him off or sometimes he himself would just get tired and leave. Sometimes his mother would come to the rescue smiling and praising his achievements. But never his father. Whenever he had asked his Mother about it, she had just cried and said that, of course, his father loved him.

And soon Theo had stopped asking. But that didn't stop him from doing everything he could to gain his Father's attention. From getting honors in school to excelling in horse-riding he did everything. Every summer he would come home running with his prizes and medals thinking maybe this time his Father would look. And just like every other time, his father would look right through him as if he was nothing but a wisp of smoke.

Theo had felt like a ghost in his own damn house.

Then Mother had died and Theo had never felt so alone. The father and son though stayed in the same house, they were strangers for all purpose. They would wake up and go about their ways never acknowledging each other, never seeing each other. There were days Theo would doubt his very existence. Days would go on without either of them uttering a single word. Tired of the silence Theo would spend most of his time wandering around the vast estate.

Then one day he met a boy about his age. _His_ hair was as white as his was black. The only thing wrong in that picture was the angry black eye the boy was sporting. That's how he had met Draco Malfoy. And in the midst of loneliness and desperation, a strong friendship was forged.

One who would have given just about anything to be ignored by his father and the other who had to beg for scraps of his father's attention all his life. Though his father had never beaten him like Draco's did, to his ten-year-old self it had felt the same.

The last straw had been on the day of his convocation. Every single parent had been present, happy, proud and smiling at their children's accomplishments. Even though he had stopped trying but a tiny part, the part of him that still hungered for his father's love had hoped. Hoped that may be this would be the day that Father would come. But like every other time he had been left alone. Angry at himself for hoping, at the world for having dealt him a shitty hand and after being hopped up on enough alcohol to drown a horse he had, at last, confronted his father.

He had shouted, ranted, thrown stuff till his knees had given up. Livid and fuming he had shouted, " _I wish you weren't my father._ "

And that, that had gotten his father's attention at last. For the first time, Theodore Nott senior had looked straight at his _son_ and said calmly, " _Then you will be pleased to know that you have got your wish._ "

It had taken a moment for the statement to filter through his alcohol befuddled brain.

"What do you mean?" Theo slurred. The laugh that came from his father had sounded hollow to his ears.

"Your mother and I kept trying for an heir for so long. But it didn't take long to know that the defect was in me rather than your mother. Even if I had left her and rutted hundred other women I would never get what I wanted the most, an heir. I had worked up to my bones to make the House of Nott what it is today, and I will be damned if some pansy arse idiot glides in and takes it all away just because I couldn't beget an heir.

And your mother wanted a child too, so we made an agreement. She would do what it needs to be done to get with a child and I promised I won't ask. And I never did. Nine months later you were born. But I never prepared myself for the reality of it. With you running around calling me father.

Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see how weak and imperfect I am. I see failure. I see regret. Every day you were a constant reminder that I wasn't man enough, that I wasn't good enough. You were never my son. You were just a way to keep the only thing that mattered to me. My legacy. You were just a pawn, a guarded secret to keep what was rightfully mine to myself.

So stop complaining, for I gave you my name, a home, and education … a name that you are completely unworthy for. If it keeps my legacy within the House of Nott them I am alright with giving a bastard like you, my name. But I will never, never see you as my son."

Theo had got up and left without uttering even a single word. He had walked and walked aimlessly till his legs could carry him no further. Then he had sat down in the middle of the road and gradually when the numbness had faded to nothing, he laughed.

And laughed.

For the first time in all his sixteen years, he had felt _relief._ They said that the truth always sets you free and they were true. As long as he had been aware he had always thought that the fault was in him. Maybe something was wrong with him for his father to hate him so much. But now he knew the truth. He had kept trying that if he did a little better if he was a little better then, maybe his father would love him. But _he_ wasn't his father and neither was he, his son. So there was no question of disappointing him.

So pardon him if he didn't get the irony when people compared him to his father because he was _nothing_ like him.

Professor Slughorn had been talking all this time while Theo had been procrastinating. With a nod there and an _hmm_ here the professor didn't need much from him to continue talking. For the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of shocking blond hair. Theo watched as Draco's eyes fell on his companion followed by a sudden change in direction as he ran away. _Coward_.

"Professor, did you know Lord Kingslay was asking about your whereabouts. I am sure he had some important work with you. I just saw him going to the parlor," Theo said.

"Lord… Lord Kingslay, the minister? Why yes, he would as he was one of my students. Always knew he would do wonderful things. Of course, I must at once give him my assistance."

As the portly man made his exit Draco came out of the shadows.

"Bloody arse! You are supposed to be my friend not slink away when I need you," Theo said with mock anger.

"Well, you were doing marvelously without my help. Anyway, what is this rumor going around that you are doing business with that stupid Wetherby?" Draco said with a huff as he arranged himself in the seat that the old Sluggy had just vacated.

"Seeing as I am going to make a profit from that deal regardless of Wetherby's level of stupidity. I don't see any harm in that," Theo replied.

"Yes, of course. And Lady Wetherby's mouth near your cock was in no way responsible for that," Draco said.

"You know me Draco. When have I been led around by my cock? And talking about being led by one's cock. How's that little wife of yours?" Theo said with a glint in his eyes.

Draco coughed so hard that he nearly snorted whiskey out of his nose.

 _This must be interesting._

"Do not speak to her in that manner," Draco said tersely.

"Do not get snippy with me Lord Draco Malfoy. You are the one who gossips like an old biddy after every conquest. So I was just getting the ball rolling-"

"Then maybe you should shut your mouth-"

"Are you implying that a sweet biddable virgin was right under your nose and you didn't take any advantage? Well, well, well. Let me make this clear, you had a perfectly fine woman in your bed that even the law gave you the permission to shag and you, you Draco Malfoy one of the most notorious rakes of our time didn't take the chance to -"

"Do not speak thusly. She is the Duchess of-"

"Yes, yes I know all about your glorious name. But you do realize that for the marriage to be legal you have to bed her-"

"I Know but-"

"But you still haven't consummated your marriage yet-"

"Umm … I mean … No, I haven't. Not that's it's any of your business," Draco muttered with a sigh.

"And why is that?" Theo inquired with interest.

"Well, she got herself drunk on our wedding night," Draco said with a faint trace of astonishment coloring his voice.

"What! Wha…" Theo burst out laughing grabbing a couple of club patrons' attention. Quietening down to a chuckle he whispered, "She got drunk just to get out of being in the same bed as your ugly arse. I can't fathom, oh lord, I never saw this coming but I think I might actually like her."

"You might? I already like the new duchess." Another deep voice interrupted them before grabbing a nearby chair and making himself at home.

Blaise Zabini.

The Italian businessman had become a fast friend of his. Theo had reservations about this man but apart from a smart mouth and impeccable business sense, the man was quite harmless. And soon they all had become friends.

"The Duchess is a tad different, isn't she?" Blaise said waggling his eyebrows at Draco.

"Hmm, how so?" Theo asked eagerly. He had hardly spent any time with the new duchess.

"Different? She is completely outrageous. That's what she is. She has no decency of a Duchess, once I saw her elbows deep in the soil, gardening. She trips all over the house. Talks to the help like they are actual people. She even brought a beast that she calls her cat, who I am sure doesn't like me. I found one of my cravats shredded to pieces. A very expensive cravat. Pieces, Theo!

I don't know but there's something about her that makes everyone like her and that too in such a short period. I mean everyone. I am damn sure Winston would take a bullet for her if the need arises and Thomas, they are always in cahoots, laughing and doing things that a duchess should never do.

And you!" Draco said exasperatedly pointing a finger at Blaise. "What the hell was that? Why were you flirting with her?"

"No, I wasn't flirting with her. It's called a conversation, Draco, which you could have been a part of if you had stopped growling for a moment and thought of joining us," Blaise said with a smile. "And what is it to you if I flirt with her or otherwise. You, my dear friend who spent his wedding night with his mistress," Blaise asked pointedly.

"This. This is the Draco Malfoy I know. The one who sneaks out to seek his mistress' bed on his wedding night leaving behind a drunk bride," Theo said in a droll voice.

"I did no such thing, you morons. And Blaise, stop trifling with my help for information. I just went to Amelia's to settle things off. Even though _she_ is here for a month or so, I don't want her to go through with what Mother went through. The last thing I want to become is like my father and parade my mistresses in front of her. After the month is up and all my estate details are settled, I will send her off to the country and we both can carry on with our life as we did before," Draco said.

Silence heavy and uncomfortable now hung around the table. Theo knew all about Draco's father and he was sure Blaise had an inkling too.

Before the silence would grow Blaise cleared his throat and said in a forced jovial tone. "Did I see the Duchess and Lady Greengrass loitering in the clothing establishment? You finally took my advice and are gracing us with your lordly presence in the Parkinson ball."

"Lady Greengrass?" Theo muttered. Not that he cared for her one bit.

"Yes. The one you are betrothed to. The nicer one. And both of them looked chummy too." Blaise leered at Theo.

"Damn! I nearly forgot," Draco said in a hurry while checking his pocket watch. "She must be done by now," Draco muttered to himself before standing up and straightening his waistcoat.

When Theo didn't stand up to join them, Blaise turned and whined. "Common, Lord Theo it's a crime to keep this marvelous creation from the women," Blaise said pointing at himself.

"You do realize that the only person who thinks he is a gift from God is just you," Theo said rolling his eyes.

"You are just jealous my Lord. Just because the ladies are tired of staring at your pale white arse and like mine better, it's not my fault," Blaise said while blowing at his fingers.

"Will both of you stop bickering like little girls and hurry up," Draco said, irritation clear on his face.

Before Theo could say anything, Blaise leaned and whispered. "Good Lord, he has got it bad."

 _Yes, he had got it bad. Very bad indeed._


End file.
